Forty­­­–Six & 2
by Shadow Phenix
Summary: Set after The Curse of the Black Pearl and ignorant of everything else. Will goes missing Jack and Elizabeth set out after him. I'm rewriting this story, and I don't recommend reading it in its current form, as TPTB messed up the formatting. See profile.
1. Impertinent Disapprobation

ï»¿

Disclaimer: Any names dropped here and found in the movie aren't mine, and anyone who claims otherwise owes me a lot of money.

Notes:  
**This fic is currently being re-drafted, and the new chapters cannot be posted here until I've revised all of them. For the latest redone chapter, visit my profile, where you'll find a link.**

Also, please note that some author comments are embedded in the text since the brackets were taken out by TPB.

* * *

**Forty-Six & 2, Chapter One - Impertinent Disapprobation**_impudent condemnation or moral disapproval_

'A house with twelve residents and six uninvited guests shouldn't be so quiet,' thought Elizabeth Swann as she stared out at the stagnant night that was visible through the open terrace doors. Outside, there was only darkness and that looming fog, which had once provided her with something similar to hope, while the view currently to her back had a warmer, more intimate effect, even when considering the circumstances. Still, she was sure that she preferred the infinite bleakness, which she currently gazed upon, to that of the Commodore, the two soldiers, and their prisonerâ€"a man who shouldn't have been there in the first place.

"Miss Swann?" the Commodore's voice cut off any more thoughts she might have had of said prisoner.

Norrington was one of those uninvited guests, though she had a feeling that it was his first time being deemed as such. After all, he was a good, caring man, and, above all, a proper gentleman. She turned, a reply on the edge of her tongue, but lost her words when she saw the pirate again.

There he was, the great Captain Jack Sparrow, kneeling on her favorite imported rug (she'd have to remember to burn it later) and looking quite exasperated and utterly pleased with himself at the same time. She couldn't help but notice the differences between him and Norrington; the Commodore was clean-shaven, with a pale face and tresses that were in perfect order (yes, order was the word), whereas Jack looked as though he had never even heard of a razor, with sun-kissed olive skin and disarrayed hairâ€"one might think him unkempt, were it not for the kohl that lined his eyes and the many beads and braids that had somehow found their way into his mop. They were like day and night, and right now, night held a much greater appeal, what with the fire lighting across the Captain's face and intensifying his gazeâ€"_not_ that she found that alluring in the slightest. Pirates were a heartless, undesirable breed; she knew that now.

Commodore Norrington approached her slowly. "Miss Swann, what would you have me do with thisâ€¦" he paused, opting to steer clear of any slight vulgarities that he may have used in reference to Sparrow, should the circumstances be different, "â€¦man?" he finished, spitting the word out tightly.

She cleared her throat, eying the pirate on his knees, "He is an intruder in my home, Commodore Norrington. Punish him as you'd punish any other guilty of such crimesâ€¦to the full extent of the law."

His tension eased visibly. "Of course." He addressed the two soldiers, "Take him to his new quarters, gentlemen."

"Might I have a word with the lovely _Miss Swann_?" he requested, rising as the men hoisted him up.

"Yes, you may, though you might find your speech impeded by the noose around your neck."

"I see," he replied thoughtfully, "so you'll be acting as judge, and she as jury." He looked into Elizabeth's eyes. "Or is it the other way around?" he inquired softly.

"Let him have his word, Commodore Norrington, though it won't do him much good."

Norrington nodded hesitantly. "Be quick," he ordered Jack before nodding to the soldiers, who stepped away.

"If you'll excuse us."

The Commodore moved to protest, but Elizabeth cut him off with a motion of her hand. "It's alright. Mr. Sparrow will not harm me. After all, he is in bonds," she indicated his wrists, which had been bounded together with rope.

"As you wish, Elizabeth."

Her response was an affirming nod.

"Five minutes, then?"

"Yes, I suspect that will be abundantly sufficient for whatever Mr. Sparrow may have to say."

The three men exited quietly, sliding the double doors closed behind them.

"So, my name hasn't escaped that head of yours completely, after all."

Her only acknowledgement of his observation was a roll of her eyes, and she started when he suddenly stalked over to her and proceeded to circle about her in a scrutinizing manner.

"I must admit, I had expected you'd be using your lover's name by now."

She stiffened.

"Hmm, that's int'resting," he said silkily. "Let me have a go at it, Love. So enthralled were you with the prospect of seeing the dashing Captain Jack Sparrow again," here, he flashed her a wide grin, "that you abandoned all thoughts of a marriage to your rather prudent sweetheart in hopes that the aforementioned roguishly handsome Captain would come to rescue you from this vapid existence of which you seem to be so fond. Am I right?"

She remained silent as he finished, the ice now spread over her veins, preventing any coherent thought that might formulate some clever retort.

He came to a rest just slightly to the right of her when he saw the last bit of color drain from her face. He emitted a gruff grunt. "Very well, then, since you seem averse to provide an answer, where might I find the dear Mr. Turner?"

At that, she gave him a quick and fierce slap. "You most certainly deserved that, Jack Sparrow," she rushed, before he could recover the equilibrium necessary for one of his clever witticisms.

"Tell me then, Miss Swann," he countered, not bothering to inspect the reddening handprint that was spreading quickly over his cheek, "what is it I've done to put you in such a sour mood this eve?"

Deciding against a verbal reply, she reacted with another slapâ€"or, rather, she would have, had it not been for Jack's hands effectively thwarting her attack just before it met with his other cheek.

He held her limb in the air as he eyed her sternly, "Fool me onceâ€¦" he taunted.

"You _are_ a fool, Jack. You proved that today by returning to Port Royal."

"I was under the impression that I held a few friends here. My mistake, apparently."

She gave her arm a good yank and managed pull free from his grasp, but knocked herself off-balance in the process, and she lurched backwards. Jack reached out to steady her as best he could, considering his bonds weren't much help in the matter, and she leveled herself, shaking him off immediately, without bothering to utter a term of gratitude. "You must have finally fried that brain of yours if you thought you could just return here after what you did," she grated, her voice filled with vehemence.

He raised an eyebrow to that. "I've done many things, Miss Swann. I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific than that so that I might offer up properâ€¦expiation."

"Will left me for you."

He blinked in confusion and flashed his teeth. "Come again?"

"Really, Jack, in all your brilliance, all you can manage to do is act daft? Alright then, allow me to clarify it for you." She moved closer so that her nose nearly touched his. "William Turner left Port Royal so that he could make his home on the sea. He's probably dead right now, and it is all _your_ fault."

**Â· Â§ Â·**

Jack swallowed a growl as he was thrust against the far wall of his old cell. "All the comforts of home," he mused.

"I see you didn't bother to take my advice to heart," observed the Commodore. He had informed Jack on the way over that the best thing for him to do under such circumstances was keep quiet.

"Well from where I stand," Jack began, looking around, "it doesn't seem to matter much, Commodore, seeing as how I'll be the only occupant here at your inn tonight."

"Sparrowâ€""

"That's _Captain_ Sparrow to you, Mate."

"I, Sparrow, am neither your mate, nor your ally; if it were up to me, you would already be enjoying permanent display on Gallows Point. The sooner that you're swinging from a noose, the better, so until such time, keep your mouth shut, and you might just make it to your execution in one piece."

"Careful there, Commodore, you would not want to denigrate yourself just yet. After all, the lovely Miss Swann is still available, and I should imagine that you've still a soft spot for her." His brows furrowed. "You will be inviting me to the wedding, won't you? If you'll remember, I _was_ rooting for you those few years ago."

Commodore Norrington closed in on him rapidly. "You're going to rot in Hell, Sparrow," he bit out menacingly, "and you'll be sent there under my order. Tie up your loose ends; you haven't got much time." He turned swiftly and left the cell, giving hushed commands to the warden before taking his leave.

Jack looked on curiously as the two soldiers from earlier followed the Commodore, while a younger man, the one Commodore Norrington had given orders to, stayed behind.

'This is going to be easier than I had conjured,' he thought. He waited for a few hours, until just after nightfall, before beckoning to the warden. "Let's have a chat, you and I."

The young man's face creased in thought. "Me?" he asked, indicating himself.

"Aye," Jack replied, his eyes swerving to the side, "yes." He waved him overâ€"well actually, he cupped him over, considering his wrists were still bound together.

The other approached him slowly, and Jack realized just how young the boy actually was; he couldn't have been more than seventeen. They were making this far too easy for him. He momentarily considered the fact that it could all be a ployâ€"a way for Commodore Norrington to justify Jack's own very quick demise, seeing as how he was soon to be armed and free, but then he decided to leave it as an afterthought.

The warden stopped a few feet from his cell.

"Am I that intimidating?"

"I have instructions not to speak with you, so just keep quiet."

"Well, it's quite ostensible that you've already broken that particular rule, currently being an interlocutor and all; it's not a wonder that Commodore Norrington doesn't think you can handle me on your own. There's probably a myriad of troops waiting just outside the door incase something happens."

"No, the Fort's been under constant fire as of late. Likely, they're all manning the guns and patrolling the docks."

"Aye." Jack waited a bit. "Awfully lonely in here, though, it just being the two of us, and nary a bit of pleasurable company in sight."

"You're a prisoner."

"A bright one you are, and it's true, but should I be sent to have council with Hades without even a friendly chat?"

"Iâ€¦imagine not."

"Good then. Now listen. It seems as though I've come to the end of my rope, as it were, and I'll be needing someone to lay claim to my booty."

"Booty?" he asked, drawing closer.

"Aye, me spoils, swag, loot, and all prizes otherwise referred to as _treasure_," he drew out this last word with emphasis.

"Treasure?" he was now directly in front of what served as Jack's cage.

"Treasure," he confirmed. "I must have someone young and capable of managing such glories, since I've not a single heir of me own upon whom to bestow them."

The lad's furrow of confusion deepened.

Jack cleared his throat in order to cover a light chuckle. "What's your name, then?"

"Sheeley. Henry Sheeley."

"Well then, Sheeley, old Jack's going to look out for you."

"How's that?"

"I like you, Sheeley, you're veracious, strapping, effusive, edified, and otherwise lacking peccadilloâ€"a good man," he blandished. "Should the others come down for a visit with us and catch you consorting with the likes of me, it could spell troubleâ€"trouble that would have you swinging alongside me, rather than retrieving your endowment. So, as a precaution, perhaps you might be putting your back to me in the case of such a thing happening, aye?"

Now, Henry Sheeley was not a stupid man; he was, however, a greedy man, and he had dreamed many times of a situation such as the one in which he was currently engaged. Therefore, he turned away from the prisoner without the slightest of protests.

"Clever too," Jack commented, grinning widely. "Now then, Henry, perhaps you could tell me a bit more about yourself."

"Oh? Why do you want to know about me, Mr. Sparrow?"

"First off, it's _Captain_ Sparrow, and secondly, I think it only fitting that I know a few details about myâ€¦successor."

"Uh, oh. What is it that you'd like to know, Captain?"

Jack rolled his eyes again, his hands working busily with his restraints. He'd gotten out of practice again. "Where're you from?"

"England, of course."

"Right, then, and how long have you been here in Port Royal?"

"Nearly four years now. I came over as a cabin boy."

That meant that the boy had just missed Jack's first arrival in the port after his marooning, likely by a couple of months. "Do you know William Turner?"

"Yes, the blacksmith. I knew of him."

"'Knew,' eh? And what of him?"

"He left Port Royal some time ago and hasn't been heard from since, but word has it that he became an outlaw."

"Outlaw," Jack repeated.

"A-a pirate, Sir."

"Ah yes, a pirate," Jack wondered why he hadn't heard anything of Will's sudden leap into piracy. "Your hand, Son."

Sheeley jumped at the request and stammered, "My-my hand?"

"Aye," Jack said, the hearty tone now back in his voice, "it calls for a pair of great hands to take hold of such treasures."

Without a second thought, the warden put his rifle to the side and thrust both of his hands through the bars of Jack's cell.

"Now, exactly when was it that Turner turned pirate?" Jack questioned conversationally, as he "examined" the boy's hands.

"Just over two years ago, though I'm sure Miss Swann could give you a more precise timing, consideringâ€¦" he let the sentence hang.

"Aye? What's that considering?"

"'Twas her wedding day when he went missing. She stood out there on the pier, waiting patiently in her bridal gown. Even when the storm came, she remained standing there like a statue, but only after the night had passed did word of his departure reach her." He paused. "Have you finished your inspection, Captain?"

Jack blinked and looked down, realizing that he had stopped his actions. "Not quite," he murmured, resuming the task.

"You knew the blacksmith?"

"I knew him. In fact, he's the reason I've found myself in this particular situation."

"Seeking revenge, are you?"

"Ah, revenge. Come close, Mate. I'll tell you a secret," he said, keeping hold of the boy's newly bound wrists.

The warden leaned backwards until he came into contact with the bars, awaiting directions to his treasure.

"You Navy men are so tense," he said, massaging Sheeley's neck with a hand. "You know, always wanting revenge on those who've wronged you." Something in his voice changed. "Revenge is dark. It calls out to you and drives you mad until you take care of matters. I imagine Commodore Norrington will want some sort of revenge once he finds that you've let me escape."

"W-what?" he asked, attempting to jump away, but Jack's grasp as well as the bonds held him in place.

"Aye, revenge. Although the Commodore, himself, is subject to my own prestidigitation, he is quite the martinet and won't take kindly to losing track of me once again. Good luck with him." He applied pressure to an area of the man's neck, and Sheeley dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes, fainting.

"We'll attribute that to my many voyages to the Orient," Jack said as he released himself from the cell with the keys that he had taken from the warden. He stood back and admired his handiwork. "Not bad, Captain," he complimented himself before taking on a pondersome yeah, I like that stance. "Now, what to do with young Mr. Sheeley here?" He glanced between the soldier and his empty cell. "Old tricks are the best," he decided, before approaching the unconscious man.

**Â· Â§ Â·**

Elizabeth sat up in her bed and rubbed her eyes. 'Another sleepless night,' she thought before getting up and opening her curtains. "The sun's not even up yet." She sighed, then got dressed and headed downstairs in search of food. She walked by the front door and nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the blurry red behind the glass. Then, she remembered that the Commodore had stationed two redcoats outside, and she relaxed, going to the door and opening it.

The two men turned to face her, and she couldn't help but notice how closely they were standing together. "Gentlemen, I'm sure you've had a long night. Would you care to join me for an early breakfast?" she offered.

One cleared his throat, "Thanks, Miss, but under the circumstances, I think it best that we just wait here for the _others_ to return."

"Others? Oh, I'm sure it'll be a while before they show up."

The man coughed. "Butâ€¦there's the scoundrelâ€¦" his voice suddenly shot up a notch, "â€¦to consider."

"Are you ill? Perhaps you should lie down. Bring him in," she ordered the other soldier, motioning for him to follow her into the house.

The two entered. "But I'm fineâ€¦Iâ€¦" he passed out.

"Oh dear. Put him on that sofa," she said, indicating the piece of furniture while she went for a bag of medical supplies. "Was he wounded?" she questioned from another room, thinking that they might be hiding a failed intrusion from a certain pirate from her.

"I wouldn't say that," the muffled voice replied.

"Ill, then, nothing serious, I hope," she said as she returned to find Jack lounging back in one of the plush chairs.

"Lovely to see you again as well, Miss Swann," he greeted, when she failed to say anything. "And don't worry. It's nothing serious. I'm sure he'll awaken feeling much better in a few hours."

"What did you do to him?"

"What any other man in my situation would do, Love. I gave his brandy a bit of spice," meaning that he had poisoned him and the other soldier.

She narrowed her eyes and took a deep breath, opening her mouth in order to scream, thereby alerting the household, but Jack was up and in front of her with his cutlass at her throat before she had the chance.

"Now, now, we'll be having none of that, Missy. As one might imagine, I have had quite the trying day, what with your so very receptive welcome and all. Now, I'm not sure why it is that you blame me for the flight of your lover, but you do, so we're going to have to find a way to rectify the situation so that I might continue to pillage and plunder as I please."

"You're no better than Barbossa. It's not a wonder that Will turned out just like you, not caring about anyone else's feelings besides his own," she grated maliciously, hoping to push the right buttons.

"Careful, Darling, or you might find out just how much like our old friend I can be. As for William, it isn't very proper to speak so disdainfully about those who are indisposed and otherwise incapable of defending themselves."

"I don't need you correcting me." She backed away from his blade and turned from him.

"I expect you're right about that, and so I'll revoke my previous statement and threat and present you with a new one," he said, sheathing his sword.

She swung around to face him again. "Leave, Jack! Leave and never return to Port Royal."

"I'd like to do that, M'lady, but etiquette seems to be preventing such an escape, and so I'm inclined to offer you a proposal."

Elizabeth blinked, trying to make sense of his words but settled for tossing him a questioning glance.

"I've piqued your interest, I see. Very well, Miss Swann, I intend to go in search of and eventually find William Turner, and you're coming with me, so if you could just get past that impertinent disapprobation which you seem to have developed, we might actually reach Tortuga before nightfall."

Elizabeth's mouth had dropped open during his enlightenment and still remained that way as she watched him take her arm and pull her towards the stairs.

"I imagine you might prefer to take a few things, as you won't find any feminine necessities aboard the _Black Pearl_."

She shook him off and continued the trek to her bedroom, slamming the door in his face before he could enter. "Just how do you propose we get out to the _Pearl_ without Commodore Norrington seeing us? They're patrolling the entire waterfront."

"Aye, so I've heard, but it's still dark out, Love, and they can't see everything at once."

She changed into a less ornate dress, and then she grabbed another simple dress and a few other necessities, dropping them into the medical bag that she was still holding. She also scrawled a quick note to her father, requesting that he try to quell the Commodore as much as possible so that she could have ample time in which to complete her search. She failed to mention that she would be conducting the search with Captain Sparrow.

When she opened her door, she was surprised to find a huge black curtain thrust at her. She eyed Jack warily before taking the cloth and descending the staircase, leaving him to follow. "Would you care to explain now what it is we're going to do?"

"First, you're going to put that on, then find yourself a lovely rosary as further confirmation of your spirituality."

"This is bloody ridiculous," she said, pulling on her guise.

**Â· Â§ Â·**

Mr. Murtogg leaned back against the railing of the dock and looked up at the sky wistfully. "Really, I can't believe that the Commodore still has us on dock patrolâ€"the civilian docks at that. You let one pirate get on a ship, and you're damned for life. Nothing ever happens here! All we have to do is make sure that the drunkards don't fall into the water and drown'd."

"Could be worse, friend. At least we don't have any run-ins with those bloody pirates," Mullroy reminded him.

"Still, you've got to admit that this job ain't fun."

Mullroy opted for a nod. He scanned the area and saw two figures heading towards them. "What've we got here?" He motioned to his comrade.

The two came closer.

"Looks like a couple of nuns from the mission."

"Good evening, Gents," one of the ladies greeted cheerfully. "Has our boat docked?"

Murtogg looked around. "Boat, Ma'am?" He couldn't see her face, but she sounded sort of old.

"Yes, we were waiting for an escort back to the Havana mission. Our boat should have been here by now to take us to the ship."

"Sorry, Ma'am. There won't be any boats coming into port until later this morning."

"Oh dear, the ship was set to sail at dawn. How on earth will we get there in time?"

"Is something wrong with your friend there, Ma'am?" Mullroy asked, noticing the quiet and very concealed woman.

"She's been so blessed by our Lord, Sir. She is a leper and has gone mute. Can't speak a word a'tall."

The hidden nun emitted what sounded like a gagging noise.

"What was that? Is she alright?"

"I'm afraid she's weeping. She had so looked forward to seeing the children of Havana before departing from this world."

"Sick too?"

"Yes, tuberculosis."

The mute nun gave a hacking cough and the two soldiers stepped away.

"Oh, if only there were possibly some kind gentlemen who might lend us a boatâ€¦"

"Well, I've a boat, Ma'am. You may take it to your ship."

"Oh, wonderful!"

"Wait a minute, they should use my boat; it's newer!" Murtogg spoke up.

"Now, now, Gentlemen, any boat will do."

"It's settled, then. They'll be taking my boat to sea, since I have higher rank and all."

Mullroy sighed, beaten.

The two men helped the nuns into a small dingy, and set them on their way.

"Too bad that older one was a nun, really; quite the looker, she was," Murtogg said as the nuns rowed away.

**Â· Â§ Â·**

"You think he meant it?" Jack asked Elizabeth, who was desperately trying to hold onto a giggle as she removed a veil from her face. He saw her distress and took some small delight in it. "Careful, Love, you'll give us away, and we need all the time we can get," he whispered.

She nodded, watching him as he rowed towards some tall rocks. He really wasn't so bad right now, deciding to go find Will, though she had thought he already knew where Will was. Maybe he was even on Jack's ship, but she supposed that was only wishful thinking. She had seen the surprise in Sparrow's generally indifferent expression. Now, she was even more worried that something bad had happened to Will during the past two years. If Jack truly didn't know where he was, could he even be alive? She shook her head to rid the thought and looked just behind Jack's shoulder to see a lantern. It wouldn't have been visible from the port and likely overlooked by a passing ship, due to it having been set upon the ground.

Jack directed the boat to the spot of land that held the lantern and lifted it off as they passed slowly, then continued back into the rocks. After a few minutes, he turned, raising the lantern in order for her to see the entrance to a cave. "Take this," he said, handing over the light so that he could better maneuver the tiny vessel.

As soon as they entered, she saw how shallow the water was growing and mentioned it. "Aye, useful for careening when in the neighborhood," he informed her. Suddenly, the darkness in front of her was gone, and the lantern illuminated the bow of the _Black Pearl_.

"This is our stop," Jack announced, dropping the oars into the boat and hopping out. He removed his nun garb, and then offered his hand, which she took. He led her to the ship and helped her aboard. "Gentlemen, your Captain has returned!"

"And who've ye brought alonâ€"no. Sir, I'm not seeing this. Not another woman," Gibbs cried, taking in the nun.

"Not a woman, Mate. It's only Elizabeth."

Elizabeth felt her face growing hot and glared brutally at Jack's unsuspecting back.

Gibbs sighed. "Aye, then. Weigh anchor, men! Won't be long a'fore the sun is up."

* * *

Original Content: 2003.08.07 


	2. Egregiously Effete

ï»¿

Disclaimer: Any names dropped here and found in the movie aren't mine, and anyone who claims otherwise owes me a lot of money.

Notes:  
This fic is currently being re-drafted, and the new chapters cannot be posted here until I've revised all of them. For the latest redone chapter, visit my profile, where you'll find a link. Feedback is still highly appreciated.

Also, please note that some author comments are embedded in the text since the brackets were taken out by TPB.

* * *

**Forty-Six & 2, Chapter Two - Egregiously Effette**  
_notoriously self-indulgent_

"We can't do it, Captain! Keepin' another woman aboard the ship is like invitin' the wrath of Neptune 'imself upon us!"

"Aye!" the rest of the crew cried.

The _Black Pearl_ had already set sail and was well on her way to Tortuga.

"Crimp's right, Jack. Now I'm just as fond of the wench as you be, but ye hafte think on the crew's behalf."

"Joshamee," Jack began, clamping a hand onto Gibbs' shoulder, "I assure you that the lady's presence will neither bring anathema nor retrogression upon the _Black Pearl_ and her crew."

"The lady has a name, and she is quite capable of speaking for herself," Elizabeth insisted, though no one seemed to notice. She huffed back over to a barrel and sat, waiting for her fate to be decided.

"That's what he said about Anamaria!" Marty shouted.

"That's right, and look what happened to poor Moises!" Kursar followed.

"Two hurricanes in one week, Jack; it's a miracle any of us survived."

"Aye, Moises was a good man, one whose loss I would not disparage, but Anamaria was not the cause of it," he said grimly. "Now, I'm not an austere Captain, men, you all know that well, but should you continue questioning my authority, we will have to start enforcing the code more strictly."

"Aye, the code! I say we _should_ enforce it!"

Jack's eyes narrowed. ahem note: Jack will narrow his eyes a lot; it's that squinting thing he does all the time.

Gibbs nodded. "I'm sorry, Jack, but as quartermaster, it is my duty to see that the crew's needs are heard and met."

Several beats passed before the Captain gave a curt nod.

"Men, it seems that we have a disagreement, and so, we will put the issue to a vote. Those men who wish for Miss Elizabeth to remain on the ship, indicate such now." Once Jack dropped his hand, Gibbs went on. "Those opposed?" After several confirmations, including his own, Gibbs turned back to Jack. "My apologies, Captain; seems that the crew has the vote."

"You forgot one."

Gibbs looked around, then walked over to the helm. "Mr. Cotton, how do you vote?"

"Rawk, daft like Jack, rawk!" the parrot crooned.

"Thank you, Cotton. I knew you'd see things my way," Jack pronounced elaborately.

Cotton nodded and winked.

"Still, majority rules, Cap'n."

"Aye, you want her off the ship?" They all agreed. "Off she goes, then." He walked over to Elizabeth and lifted her, tossing her over his shoulder. He then proceeded to the bulwark of the ship.

"Jack! Put me down! Jack!" She pounded on his back and continued to yell at him.

"Now, hold up a minute, Sir, we want her off, but it can wait 'til the next port," Gibbs insisted, ambling up behind the other man in panick.

Jack threw over his free shoulder, "The next port is Tortuga. She won't last a day there."

"But Captainâ€""

Before there could be further protest, Jack dumped Elizabeth into a row boat that hung on the starboard side of the ship.

She blinked, slightly dazed from the impact and surprised not to be surrounded by the cool waters of the Caribbean.

"There." He brushed his hands together, then docked them on his hips. "She's no longer on the ship."

Gibbs opened his mouth for a second, then easily gave up on a response and settled for a hearty laugh. The rest of the crew followed, and a few minutes later, they all returned to their miscellaneous duties.

"You insufferable, no good, pompousâ€¦" her face was red with fury as she realized he had nearly made her lose control by swearing, "â€¦pirate," she finished lamely. "First, you threaten to slit my throat, and nowâ€¦now you practically toss me overboard?"

He stuck an index finger out to match the one she had raised. "I just gained you passage, Miss Swann; as you're well aware, the crew isn't quite taken with you, and you aren't far from actually _being_ overboard, so don't tempt me, Missy."

Without giving her chance for a response, Jack turned away, heading for the helm.

"Why did I ever agree to this?" she asked herself before sinking down into the boat.

**Â· Â§ Â·**

"Good morning, Commodore. I must say, this is a rather unexpected visit. I would have had an early lunch prepared, had I known that you'd be visiting with us today."

"Governor Swann," Commodore Norrington greeted. "I am afraid this is not a social call." He paused. "Iâ€¦came to speak with Elizabeth."

"Oh. Well, she's gone to work at one of the missions for a few days. She said she needs time to clear her head and that she doesn't wish to be bothered."

James narf, why'd the cut out the only scene with the man's name? was taken aback. "Oh, I thought she would have informed me."

"Had recent events not upset her so, I'm sure she would have done just that. As you know, she wasâ€¦quite troubled." Weatherby paused. "Is there something that I might help you with, Commodore?"

"Ohâ€¦oh, well actually, I only wished to inform your daughter of Prisoner Sparrow's escape."

"Escape?"

"Yes, last night. He incapacitated the warden."

"Oh dear. I do hope the soldier faired well."

Norrington gave a tight smile, "Yes. Well, I'm sure he will be fine." He waited for a couple of beats. "Governor Swann, I'm curious. Where are the men I positioned here last night?"

"Men? Oh-oh of course. Elizabeth took them along with her. For protection."

"Of course." He looked around. "Well, I had best return to the fort. I'm sure there are many things that need to be taken care of."

The Governor nodded. "I assume you won't be pursuing Sparrow, then?"

"Due to the recent raids, I don't see that Port Royal could afford it."

"Right you are, Commodore. It's a wise decision."

"Yes. Good day, Governor." He nodded before slowly exiting the household.

Weatherby grabbed at his chest, sighing in relief as he sank into one of the uncomfortable chairs nearby.

"Are you alright, Governor?" a maid asked as she rushed to his side.

"My daughter is going to be the death of me." He gave a slight smile. "Would you make sure that Leticia's rosaries are replaced, Diana? I must be off to speak with Father Avalon."

"Right away, Sir." She curtsied before leaving.

Left alone, pulled a miniatureof his daughter at a younger age from his inner jacket pocket. "My little pirate, what have you gotten us into this time?"

**Â· Â§ Â·**

Elizabeth straightened and stretched the little that she could while on her knees when she spotted the docks drawing close. She had already brushed her hair and done the best possible with everything else, considering she had no privacy. Cotton had brought her meals to her, and she had quickly grown to like the old man, considering he hadn't wanted her tossed off the ship (at least, she was pretty sure that he hadn't).

"Just what is it that you're doing there, Miss Swann?"

She jumped slightly before turning to face Jack, affixing a glare on her visage. "What does it look like, Mr. Sparrow? I'm preparing to go into Tortuga since we're about to dock."

Jack chuckled. "You won't be paying a visit to that naughty little spot."

"What? But you said we were going into Tortuga."

"Right, but what I meant was, _we're_ docking at Tortuga, but _I'll_ be the only one getting off the ship before sundown. The crew is free to go as they please after that, but you'll be staying right here." His index fingers accented the point by indicating her boat.

"You can't do this, Jack."

"How's that, Love?"

"You owe me! You're the reason that Will left! You're the reason he's in peril!"

"Are we back at this again? Just how is it that you think I'm controlling your lover, making him run off and the like?"

"Y-youâ€"" she raced through the possible reasons in her mind. "You're Jack Sparrow, that's how!" she spat, exceptionally infuriated by her sudden lack of basis. Two days ago, there had been an infinite number of plausible charges against the pirate.

Jack blinked. "Never thought of it that way. Very well, being that you find me exacerbating, efficacious, execrable, and essentially exuding evil from every fibre of my being, your convictions won't be much altered by this," he spouted, just before yanking on the davits suspending her boat, raising her up so that she was incapable of reaching the ship. He re-secured the ropes, then removed his hat. "If the lady will excuse me." He gave her a grand bow before turning away.

Elizabeth pulled herself back up so that she was on her knees again. "You come back here, Jack Sparrow!" she yelled, throwing a shoe at him.

He barely dodged it and looked at Cotton. "Make sure she doesn't hurt herself, will you?" He ducked, the other shoe managing to catch his shoulder. "Or anyone else, for that matter." He moved on after receiving a nod fromt he older man.

"Coward," he heard her continue as he jumped onto the dock. "You forgot errantly evasive and egregiously effete!"

He smiled to himself, "So I did," he admitted softly.

**Â· Â§ Â·**

"Perhaps things will be more lively t'night, my friend," Murtogg stated as he and Mullroy marched out to their sector.

"Unlikely," the other replied unenthusiastically.

"I don't suppose you're still sore from earlier?"

"Don't suppose so. After all, you saved me a boat."

"Hadn't thought of it that way. All the same, I'm sure either boat would have escorted those nuns to their ship safely."

"What ship?"

The two started and turned to find the Commodore staring at them intently.

Murtogg gulped. "What's that, Sir?"

"You said someone was escorted to a ship. What ship would that be?"

"Can't say that I know, Sir. The nuns failed to give us its name."

"Nuns?"

"Uh, yes," Mullroy confirmed. "Two nuns from the mission came just a bit before dawn looking for an escort to take them to their ship, but the boat hadn't come in. We told them that no ships were to dock."

"So they took another boat?"

"Yes, Sir. I offered up my own," Murtogg said proudly.

"Where was the ship headed?"

"Havana, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"And you say their escort hadn't arrived?"

"Yessirâ€¦err, no, Sir. Is something wrong, Sir?" Murtogg asked, squirming.

"A prisoner escaped last night. He may have taken the escort."

"Well that's not very proper, it being a nun's escort and all. Anyone we might recognize, Sir?"

"Yes. You remember Jack Sparrow, don't you?"

The two were stunned.

"J-Jack Sparrow?"

"_The_ Jack Sparrow?"

"Yes. Did either of you see him or anyone suspicious?"

They looked at each other, then back at the Commodore.

"N-no." "Nothing to my recollection." They answered simultaneously.

"Well, I don't suspect you would have." He cleared his throat. "Keep a keen eye, though."

"Certainly, Sir. Where might we find youâ€¦should we see him?"

"Iâ€¦have to check with the missions. Perhaps they have further information on the escort."

"Right, Sir."

**Â· Â§ Â·**

Elizabeth brought her knees to her chest and rested her head. Jack had been gone for at least two hours now, and no one had spoken to her since his departureâ€"not that she had expected or longed for them to do so. Cotton had returned her shoes and lowered her after a while, his parrot cawing, "Avast!" to keep her in place. She had contemplated ignoring its advice and making for an escape, but she wasn't sure how to go about finding Will in a place such as Tortuga and finally dismissed the idea. Instead, she settled for gazing over the deck, watching as the men scurried around to take care of this and that. After a while, they began to disappear, and she realized that it was growing late, the sun sinking slowly from the horizon in an orange blur. The only stragglers were Cotton, his bird, and Marty, who was hurriedly passing a mop over the aged wood.

She watched the little man for a few moments, remembering when he had spoken for the crew and refused to help her rescue Will. At the thought of saving Will, her vision blurred, and she went numb. What if they were too late to rescue Will? Or what if they did find him and he didn't want to return to Port Royal with her? Those thoughts overtook her mind as she remained frozen.

Her state of trance left her unprepared for the shorter, furious pirate who suddenly occupied her vision, causing her to lurch backwards.

"If you find it so worthy of your attention, why don't yeh try helpin'?"

She blinked a few times, and, seemingly left with no other choice, she hesitantly nodded. She stood up on one of the thwarts but then realized that she couldn't reach the deck in her current position. She was about to ask Marty to adjust the davits when Cotton approached. He reached towards her, and she smiled, leaning forward so that she could grab onto his shoulders. He then lifted her out of the boat and fixed her onto the ship.

Marty, who had previously moved to allow Cotton access to Elizabeth, had already retrieved a second mop and held it out to her. "Day's a' fadin'. We don't want to be spendin' the rest of our night workin' at this."

She nodded and accepted the mop, being sure to thank Cotton before taking a pail of water from Marty and making her way to the foredeck.

**Â· Â§ Â·**

Captain Jack Sparrow swiftly undulated his way back to the _Black Pearl_. After a few hours of visiting various taverns and asking numerous questions, a man had finally approached him with the information that he needed. He stealthily lifted himself onto the ship. Looking around, he saw that all had been taken care of and was now still. He greeted Cotton, who was busy feeding his parrot, with a nod. Once finished, the old man jerked his thumb to the starboard deck, indicating that Elizabeth was in tact.

"Good job, Man. Better be resting up for tomorrow. We've a busy day ahead of us."

Cotton winked and made his way to the men's quarters, stroking his companion as he went.

Jack slowly glided across the deck to find Elizabeth standing in the tiny boat, her back to him. Her eyes were closed, and her neck arched her head up to the dark sky. The moon was bathing her in a brilliant silver light that only accented the frail woman hidden beneath the worn and faded dress. 'Only Elizabeth. Right.' Jack swore under his breath. Now she really did resemble a swan. He dragged a hand over his face. This was going to be the longest voyage of his life.

Elizabeth opened her eyes to gaze up at the night sky. This was the first time in a long while that it had shown her any hope. Hopeâ€¦ She had given up on that idea quite some time ago. She had once believed that Will would return to her one day, explaining that he had to go to help someone, or that he had been kidnapped and all he wanted now was her forgiveness and hand in marriage. That day had never come, though. Instead of Will coming for her, it had been Jack, a man she had taught herself to hate over those few-but-long years.

She still hadn't quite figured out why he was helping her now, considering she had all but sent him to the gallows the previous night. Will and Jack had developed an odd, yet indisputable bond. Maybe he just wanted to find his old friend simply for peace of mind.

Maybe notâ€¦

"Not sure how safe that is, Love."

Startled, Elizabeth jerked and fell backwards into Jack, who was only slightly caught off guard. He tried to steady her and himself, but instead stumbled, his knees buckling. The two unceremoniously crashed into the deckâ€"Jack landing unmarred on his rear end with Elizabeth sprawled across his lap in a very unladylike fashion.

He grinned down at her. "See what I mean?"

She huffed, un-amused, and struggled to get up.

"Lacking in acerbic comments for the moment, I assume?"

She gave him a small push as she rightened herself. "If you're only going to be rude, then just leave me alone. I was enjoying the silence."

"Seems it didn't do much improving upon your spirits, though." He drew one of his knees up and propped an arm on it.

She sighed, further vocalizing her annoyance. "Did you find Will?"

He looked around himself. "I think the answer to that is rather clear."

"Fine. Do you know where we _will_ find him?"

"Not quite."

She turned away, walking over to her boat.

"I do, however, know where our quest will lead us next."

She awaited further elaboration, but when none came, "Well?"

Smiling, he stood and went to her side. "A ship."

"'A ship'â€¦a ship!" she crescendoed. "You spent hours on that bloody island, and all you found was that the next place we should look is a ship?"

"No. I spent the most of the evening deadening my senses until I was informed that Will Turner, blacksmith by trade, pirate by birth, has not been seen in these parts for at least a year and a half, since he joined up with a buccaneer crew of his own."

Her world slammed to a halt. "He..he what? Where?"

"Not sure, but popular consensus among those I spoke with exacts that they were originally headed for Spain, though news of late holds tale of them in the Bahamas."

"'Them'?"

"Aye, the _Miseria Cantada_ and her crew. An interesting lot. I know the Captain well. We should meet up with them before we reach port."

She relaxed. They really were going to find Will. "Thank you, Jack."

"Don't be giving your gratitude so freely just yet. You have to bear in mind that it's been more than a year since Will first plowed the waves with them," he reminded her softly.

"I know." She paused. "Jack, why are you doing this? Going to all this trouble, I mean."

"Apparently, I owe it to you, correct?"

She blushed. He was still letting her blame Will's absence wholly on him. She ignored the question and cleared her throat. "Would you help me up?" she asked, putting a foot on the bulwark.

"Afraid I find myself disobliged."

She jerked her head to the side so that she could look at him. "Pardon?"

"You see, Miss Swann," he began, taking on an air of formality again, "I've not had a good run with Lady Fortune lately, and my lot would likely cast you as a somnambulist. Therefore, you'll be sleeping in my bed."

She blinked, her face reddening with fury rather than embarrassment this time. "I will do nothing of the sort! I knew you had prurient intentions."

She began to stomp away, but he firmly clasped her elbow, stopping her.

"Easy, Darling. It was only a slight malapropism on my part. I was not suggesting what you have in your head." He made a positively flagrant motion with his hand, and the corner of his mouth turned up wolfishly. "Although, if you'd prefer it that wayâ€¦"

She fixed him with an icy glare.

He considered her. "Your loss, then." He sighed and released her, putting his hands together. "Miss Swann, as I'm sure you are aware, it is not safe to sleep out here in the open on that boat. You aren't sleeping in the men's quarters, so your choices are as follows. You may either sleep in the Captain's quarters or the brig."

"I thought I wasn't allowed on the ship."

"The men won't return until dawn, so what the crew doesn't knowâ€¦"

"Fine. I'll take the brig," she decided, getting her bag from the boat.

His face fell, and he made several gestures of frustration before calming himself. "Follow me." He turned and headed down to the holding cells, Elizabeth staying close to his heels. "Have your pick."

She smiled and brushed by him, opting for the foremost cell to her left. She went to the tiny cot and tested it by sitting and bouncing a bit. You're right; they didn't have cots in the movieâ€¦but they do now. She opened her bag and began sifting through the supplies she had brought with her; it distracted her from looking over at the Captain, who was likely mocking her. It wasn't until she heard the decisive click of a lock that she jolted up to find him grinning, a key ring in hand. "You're locking me in?"

"That would be how it appears. Can't have you sleepwalking about the ship, now can I?" He went over to a pile of junk in the corner and began rummaging through it.

She gripped the bars. "You're a miserable person."

"Aye, but at current, you happen to be the cause of that misery."

"How could Will have ever thought you a good man?"

Jack froze momentarily. "So I take it that I've left your good graces yet again?"

"You were never in them to begin with," she said evenly.

"One day, Love, that mouth of yours is going to be your undoing." Finding the things for which he had been searching, he returned to the front of her tiny cell and passed through the bars a pail and a canteen. "A day's supply of water in there. Do enjoy," he invited before starting for the staircase. "Take heart, Miss Swann, because starting tomorrow, you'll find your terms of stay here changing drastically. In the mean time, rest up. Dawn isn't far away." After that, he ascended the stairs, humming as he went, and leaving her to gape at the now empty space in the room.

"Bloody brilliant, Elizabeth," she muttered to herself, taking a disheartening look at her surroundings. Jack was going to pay for this. Dearly.

* * *

Orginal Content: 2003.08.08 


	3. Amorphous Acrimony

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Disclaimer: Any names dropped here and found in the movie aren't mine, and anyone who claims otherwise owes me a lot of money.

Notes:  
This fic is currently being re-drafted, and the new chapters cannot be posted here until I've revised all of them. For the latest redone chapter, visit my profile, where you'll find a link. Feedback is still highly appreciated.

Also, please note that some author comments are embedded in the text since the brackets were taken out by TPB.

* * *

**Forty-Six & 2, Chapter Three - Amorphous Acrimony**  
_bitterness that lacks form or consistency_

Elizabeth woke the next morning (at least, she assumed it was morning) to find threeâ€"make that four pairs of eyes watching her through her cell bars.

"Good morning, Miss Swann," Gibbs boomed.

Gibbs seemed oddly happy to see her alive and well, considering that he hadn't exactly been her advocate the day before. She sat up. "Ummâ€¦good morning, Mr. Gibbs, Mr. Cotton." Her eyes fell on another not-so-welcome face. He was donning his hat and coat this morning. "Captain."

Jack suppressed a grunt. "Gentlemen, we have business to conduct with the lady. Bring her to my refectory." He turned, exiting flamboyantly.

Gibbs unlocked and opened her cell. "Come along then, Miss Swann. 'T'won't be long before the men return."

Elizabeth nodded and stood, yawning as she followed them up the stairs to the main deck. Outside, all was still dark around the docks, and the small island still bustled with life, even though a misty haze was covering the area and clouds crowded the sky. She sighed. It seemed nature was mimicking what her future looked like. It probably wasn't a good sign.

They entered the dining room and Jack motioned for them to come over to the expansive table that was somewhat in the middle of the cabin.

"Have a seat."

Ignoring her impulse to immediately refuse his offer, she did as he bade, sitting across the table from where he stood.

"Time, Miss Swann, is of the essence, and since we haven't got much of it, I'll get right to the crux of matters." He pressed his hands together. "If you are to remain aboard the _Black Pearl_, the modification of your standing is ineluctable."

"My 'standing'?"

"Aye. Since you are unwelcome as a guest," he paused momentarily, "it would seem that there is necessity for us to find some other position suitable for you to accommodate."

She frowned. She should have known that last night's disagreement would haunt her. Apparently, Jack was willing to go to any extremes to ensure that he was proven right. "Which positions are available?" she inquired lightly.

The Captain smiled widely. "Since you are a stately woman, we'll be giving you a choice between prisoner," he held a bit, enjoying the display of something like horror playing across her features, "and crewmember."

She pursed her lips. Why did he always have to look so smug when he had the upper hand? It was probably some unspoken requirement of captains. Barbossa and Norrington both had given off the same air. The difference with Jack was that he wasn't permanently in authoritarian mode. In fact, he had seemed to be attempting to remain friendly with her earlier, but she had blown that. Now, here she was with an invitation to join the crew of the _Black Pearl_â€"something that she had actually dreamed of not too long agoâ€"or become their prisoner. She figured that there would not be much difference between the two, knowing the Captain, but she thought that joining the crew would ultimately allow her more leaverage in Will's search. Plus, she was pretty sure that Jack believed that she would opt for incarceration just to inconvenience him.

"Well, Miss Swann?"

Elizabeth gulped, realizing that quite a few minutes had slipped by while she had been considering her options. "Iâ€¦find that it will be more beneficial to us all if I join your crew, Captain Sparrow."

His game expression was darkened by impish delight. He held out his hands, and Cotton put into it a weathered scroll, which he then unraveled, never taking his eyes from hers. "These, Miss Swann, are the Articles that have been agree upon and signed by every soul aboard this ship, save yourself." Hehheh, Stabbing Westward fan; couldn't resist working that in. He slid forward the paper.

Hesitantly, she pulled her gaze away and began to read over the Articles. Most pertained to the distribution of "booty" and punishment of mutineers and any other bandits among the lot, while the rest merely set forth other standard behavioural guidelines, mainly reinforcing the code. "A pen?" she requested.

"Of course."

**Â· Â§ Â·**

Elizabeth set her jaw and kept her breathing particularly shallow as she focused on moving the lever up and down steadily while squatting before a large pump.

"Lovely aroma, wouldn't you agree?" Marty called across the bilge. He laughed when she began to speak but instead only gasped, failing her attempt at a response. "Don't worry, Lass. You'll grow to it soon enough."

"I'd really rather not," she managed, though brokenly.

"Aye. I know what ye mean. Kursar usually pumps her by himself, but with the Captain givin' her to you, and this downpour, I thought you might take to a friendly mug, such as me own."

She mustered a smile. "My thanks." They worked in silence for a bit. "Say, Marty, I hope you don't mind my asking, but why is it, exactly, that you've suddenly taken a shine to me?"

Sighing, his paused his task. "Seems that most stately ladies aren't too often found swabbing alongside the likes of m'self." He waited a beat, resuming his duties. "And I fancy we be in your debt, as ya did free us from the brig."

"Didn't seem that way at the timeâ€¦" she muttered, but immediately cursed herself. "I meanâ€""

"Aye," he cut her off, "right you are about that. Suppose, then, that it works outâ€"you being aboard the _Pearl_ now and joinin' with us."

After a while, she nodded, smiling. "Maybe you're right." Halting her own actions, she asked, "Do you think the rest of the crew will ever accept me?"

"Haven't ya seen it? They took to you a while back, when it was you shoutin' orders, keeping us afloat. I won't lie, though. We're a superstitious lot, and after what happened to Moisesâ€¦ Well, let's just leave it that with so few hands, we'd prefer no more were lost."

A contented silence stretched between them after that, and they worked amicably until Gibbs bellowed for them.

"Comin' up on a ship; all hands on deck!"

"Must be the _Miseria_ for them to be callin' upon us. We'd best make haste."

Nodding, Elizabeth rose quickly, wiping her hands over her skirt before making her way above. As she arrived on the main deck, she found that everyone was facing towards the bow, watching the ship that was rapidly approaching. Though a tad complicated to make out through the drizzle that still surrounded them, Elizabeth was able to conclude that the ship was slightly smaller than the _Black Pearl_, with gray boarding and sails to match. The only thing untouched by the color, or lack there of, was the large, solid amaranth flag that proudly flew over her decks.

"Ahh, the _Miseria Cantada_," Jack announced, confirming Marty's speculation as he appeared beside her.

"I see she was named appropriately," Elizabeth observed flatly.

"That she was," he agreed. "But as you'll soon notice, Captain Curry ahem, not that that name is supposed to mean something coughTIMTIMTIMcoughcough isn't exactly overcome with jubilation."

Swallowing a sudden lump in her throat, Elizabeth drew in a shaky breath, already making up her mind that she didn't want Will to be on this ship. It wasn't that she was afraid of it or its crew; seeing as Jack trusted them, she didn't really feel the need to be, but it had such an ominous and looming effect that she wasn't sure why anyone would want to sail aboard it.

"Enjoying your new position, Miss Swann?" Jack inquired.

Temperarily caught off guard, she smothered a groan. 'Doesn't he let anything go?' She turned so that she faced him instead of the other ship. "Why, yes, Captain, it's lovely," she countered melodiously.

His eyes lit up. "It's always good to hear that my bilgies are taking well to their duties."

Her jaw clenched tightly, and she twisted away before he could see the blood that was rushing to her face.

Satisfied with this reaction, Jack continued, "Well, Miss Swann, looks as though we will have to save the rest of thisâ€¦provocative," he purred the word, "prodding for my return, as I've other pressing matters."

From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth watched as he walked past her to the portside bulwark, propping up a leg while patiently awaiting the halt of the _Miseria Cantada_.

"Look there, men. It appears that the tales are true. Old Captain Jack has reclaimed his prize, that pile of rotten wood and rusted metal that he likes to call a ship," a boisterous voice articulated. I do the rock, rock.

"Aye, Mate, though you seem to have confused me with yourself. After all, I think any pirate worth his salt would know better than to try to sail these parts in nothing more than a tub crewed by a band of marooners."

There was a great laugh, and the speaker finally showed himself, emerging from one of the ship's many shadows to lean upon the mainmast.

Elizabeth was surprised to find that he had Jack beaten in age by a good twenty years. He was well, but gloomily dressed, matching the _Miseria_'s gray in his faded outfit. And while his voice gave away no sign of his presumed lugubriousness, his entire faÃ§ade emanated it.

"Ah, marooners we beâ€¦or were, as it were, or is." He contemplated it momentarily, then moved on, "And any fellow marooner is welcome aboard my ship!"

"Quite gracious of you, Captain, as we have business."

"Business? What sort of business have you for me?" he asked, leaning forward.

Jack mimicked his movement, "The private kind."

"Ah. Very well, then. Men," he shouted, "prepare for our guest!" Then, to Jack with less volume, "Do come, Captain Sparrow." It sounded more like a command than an invitation.

As Captain Curry turned, heading for a door beneath the weather deck, Jack grabbed a nearby loose rigging and effortlessly swung himself onto the other ship.

"Back to work, mates," Gibbs ordered as Jack followed the other captain. "Miss Elizabeth!"

She froze, her foot hanging in the air as she perched on the stepladder, intending to return below to the bilge.

"The aftercabin is in need of a cleaning, and since ye be most qualified for the job, I assume you will not mind taking it on?"

She nodded slowly, almost giving into the urge to sigh in relief.

Smiling, Gibbs held out to her the mop and pail that he had previously retrieved once she stood, then led her to the refectory and through a closed door that was stationed along the left wall. beams I was actually making this up when I wrote it, but the archway to the Captain's quarters really IS there on the left wall!

She nearly dropped her cleaning supplies as she realized what he had actually requested of her. "Jack's?"

"Aye, the Captain's quarters. Don't think he finds the time to take care of matters himself very often."

Taking a look around, she could see exactly what Gibbs meant. The room was in terrible disarray; the floor was filled with an interesting mix of tattered clothing, books, and booty, but it wasn't exactly what one normally classified as dirty, considering most of the treasure was well-polished and many of the other items appeared nearly untouched. And despite a decent accrual of dust, the air was not stagnated; in fact, the place smelled of earth and sea.

"Make it all shine." He tossed her a large rag. "And you'll likely need this too," he said, dropping a sea sponge (Just where had that come from?) into her pail. Then, he left her alone.

Setting down her things, she began to go about the cabin, collecting all the discarded clothing. She supposed that being the Captain of such a large ship with such a small crew did have its disadvantages, as far as things went, but she had never really thought that one could lack the time necessary to keep their living quarters in some order. Knowing Jack, though, this probably was what he considered orderly. Shaking her head, she placed the clothes on his bed and moved to get the other things that had been strewn across the floor. Once all was out of the way, she mopped.

While she had been doing all of this, the weather outside had worsened again, mounting into a small tempest of sorts. Without warning, the ship reeled violently, and, losing the grip that her shoes had on the planks beneath her, she crashed into the floor, sliding over the slick surface as the ship lurched again, and she landed painfully against something hard.

"Think happy thoughts, Elizabeth. Think of strangling the life out of Jack Sparrow." Truthfully, the thought of watching the life drain from his eyes both delighted and saddened her at the same time.

Briefly stunned by the fall and her morbid contemplations, she waited to make sure that the sea and her mind had calmed a bit before slowly lifting herself to find that she had collided with a large chest Regrettably NOT the Jack kind. Surprised, she could not resist the sudden urge to take a peek. She placed her hands on the top and lifted it. A bit disheartened to find it was not locked (though she recalled there being specific rules that pertained to theft in the Articles), she struggled to open the cumbersome thing fully and looked inside to find that the trunk only held more loot. "How predictable," she muttered, letting it shut.

Getting up, she turned to find that her pail had somehow managed to stay upright through the whole ordeal and frowned, but then, an idea occurred to her as she braced herself on the chest and eyed the pail. Smiling slowly, she looked between her two items of interest, a plan quickly forming as she realized that the Captain of the _Black Pearl_ no longer had the upper hand.

**Â· Â§ Â·**

Jack entered the cabin to find Captain Curry lounging sideways in what resembled a throne. Curry motioned for him to take a seat, and Jack opted for the small, rather battered sofa to his right.

Once Jack had made himself comfortable, four other men came in and sat around a square table.

"Captain Sparrow, I believe you're already familiar with Havok and Mr. Carson here. The other two, Pudget and Hunter, we picked up in the Americas."

The men nodded to Jack accordingly, and one pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and began to deal.

"I see you still find witnesses a necessity."

He chuckled. "Easier to leave the risk-taking for younger blood. Now, Jack, to what do I owe the _pleasure_ of this visit?" he questioned, getting to the matter at hand.

Jack smirked. "I find myself in search of a man."

"You've come to the right place then, but I have to warn you, these boys are not exactly the playful type," he said, making a face.

"His name is William Turner, the son of Bootstrap Bill."

The coyness dissipated, and his face became impassive. "Any of you men know of a William Turner?" His eyes remained on Jack.

The men paused their play and glanced at Jack before replying negatively.

Jack twitched. "Odd, as some in Tortuga were swayed opposingly."

"Just what do you want with the boy?"

"So you do know of him, then?" He did not await a reply. "An old friend. Went missing."

"And the great Captain Sparrow is taking on the search. Why?"

"Collecting on a debt," he lied.

"This 'debt' of yours... Has it anything to do with the lady you've taken aboard?"

"Not really sure that's any of your concern."

"Ahh. So you say. She wouldn't happen to be sailing from Port Royal, now would she?" Taking Jack's silence as confirmation of this, he continued, "I thought she looked familiar."

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"The blacksmith freed us all from prison once, including himself. Showed us a likeness of his wench. Made us all promise not to scorn, nor harm, nor maroon her, but only to take her to the port of her request, should we cross her abroad and plunder her vessel."

Inwardly, Jack was beaming. The whelp had finally learned how to negotiate properly. "He was imprisoned?"

Captain Curry grinned sheepishly. "Yes, well, Commodore Jerrith did not take kindly to certainâ€¦" his eyes rolled to the side, and one of the card players coughed, "...advances," he finished brightly.

"So where is Will?"

"Mr. Turner jumped ship more than nine months ago, and we have not to see hide nor hair of him since."

"He was alive last you saw him?"

He nodded. "Aye, though whether or not his life continued is somewhat up in the air."

Captain Sparrow gazed at the other man in speculation. "Why's that?"

"He took his leave while we were docked at Fort Brine. Said he had found what he was looking for."

"And what was that?"

"Never really got around to asking."

A few moments passed, and the two pirate captains stared at each other.

"The box, Captain," Havok said suddenly, never taking his eyes from his hand.

"Box? Right, the box." Curry stood and went over to a little desk, sifting through the drawers and their contents before producing a tiny, wooden box. "Turner wanted Miss Swann to have this." At Jack's pointed look, "Said he had a feeling we would be meeting up with her," he explained dismissively, handing it off to him. "I assume you'll get it to the lady?"

Taking the box, he examined it quickly before securing it within his sash. "Of course."

"Fantastic! Now, how about we drown ourselves in a bit of libation?"

**Â· Â§ Â·**

Jack's cabin was now in perfect, harmonic order, and Elizabeth was putting the finishing touches on theâ€¦special surprise that she had been working on for him. Checking the door once again, she quickly slipped the last of the treasure back inside its chest. She was arranging the final piece when Gibbs yelled, "All hands to greet the Captain!"

Startled, she let the top of the chest fall from her left hand, and it slammed forcefully into her other wrist. Barely smothering a yelp, she removed her injured limb to see that the skin was broken only in a small area, but that bruises were quickly forming to show where the chest had smashed her, creating an odd bracelett. Trying to resist the urge to panick, she grabbed one of the nearby rags and wrapped it around her wrist.

"Elizabeth!" Gibbs insisted.

"Coming." She finished tying it up, then readjusted the trunk's lid and made her way to the deck, just in time to see the _Miseria_ weigh anchor and begin to drift away.

"Hoist the sails, you cacophonous cockroaches! We've a new destination, and it seems that the wind might be willing to deliver us," Jack announced, jumping down from the forecastle. FYI, there are two forecastles on a ship; this is the one located at the bow, atop the upper deck. He caught sight of Elizabeth and sauntered over to her. "I couldn't help but notice, Miss Swann, that your entrance was not made from the hull. Where have you been?" he interrogated, eyes narrowing.

Gibbs beat her to a response. "The lady was keepin' her Captain's affairs in order."

"My 'affairs'?" he asked tightly.

"Thought you wouldn't mind if Miss Elizabeth tidied up your cabin a bit, Sir."

Jack looked down for a second. "Shall we go have a look-see?" he suggested, unknowingly grabbing her injured wrist.

Gasping in pain, she snatched it away immediately. "Certainly. This way." She gestured for him to follow her, and the two trekked to the aftercabin, leaving the bewildered quartermaster behind. She stopped just inside the cabin and let him enter. After a few moments, "As you can see, everything is neat and clean, andâ€¦and I'll just be getting back to my other duties." She was almost in his refectory when he grabbed her again, this time being sure to grasp her upper arm.

He pulled her back inside and spun her towards his bed. "Sit," he commanded when she had regained her bearings.

She obliged, trembling only for a second under his scrutiny. "Captain, I really mustâ€""

He slammed the door, cutting her statement short and stalked over to her. "Miss Swann," he began, delicately lifting her injured wrist, "would you care to enlighten me as to how you acquired this particular wound while scrubbing my cabin?"

She averted her gaze.

He sighed and stood, removing his hat and jacket and tossing them at the bureau that sat in one corner. "You did something stupid."

She chanced a look at him, confirming his accusation.

"Wellâ€¦?" He moved in front of her.

She glanced around his flank.

Following her eyes, he turned and made the short journey over to the chest. He raised the lid, then let it fall a moment later. Swallowing the oaths that begged for sudden release, he inquired, "What's in there?"

"Treasure," she stated simply.

He gave a tiny, affirming nod. "Andâ€¦?"

"And there might be a rotten apple or two."

He opened it again. "And?"

"Perhaps there could be," she squirmed a bit, shrinking away in anticipation of his reaction, "some bilge runoff and sediment."

Letting it close again, he turned slightly, half-succeeding in hiding the grin that pulled at the corners of his mouth. Abruptly, he swung around to face her. "I see," he said, returning to kneel in front of her, where he again lifted her arm. Without a word, he unwrapped her makeshift bandage and examined it. He clicked his tongue. "A lot of trouble to go to."

"You deserved it."

"Perhaps, but it was you who seemed to abhor the idea of friendship with a pirate."

"Yes, and I probably deserved this," she conceeded, flopping her wrist from side to side in order to check its mobility.

"Quite a pair we make." He rose to retrieve a brown bottle from one of the shelves. He picked up another rag and doused it in the pitcher atop his bedside table, then sat beside her. He drew her arm towards him and was about to clean her wound with the wet rag, when a thought occurred to him, and he looked up questioningly.

"It's fresh," she informed him, smiling.

He returned the smile and began to blot gently at her broken skin.

"Did Captain Curryâ€¦" she paused, carefully choosing her words. "Was there any news of Will on the _Miseria Cantada_?"

He glanced at her, then concentrated again on his ministrations. Clearing his throat, he said dispassionately, "The Captain confirmed that William Turner was once a crewman aboard the _Miseria_."

"Oh." She looked around dejectedly while Jack applied some sort of ointment to her wrist. "Is Will, is heâ€¦?" she hesitated.

"He jumped ship a few months ago."

She sat quietly while he fashioned a new bandage for her. "Where is the ship going now?"

"The good Captain says he's low on fittings; probably heading for Tortuga."

"I meant the _Pearl_," she clarified.

"We're going to Bermuda," he said, as though it were obvious.

She paled at that and hoped that he couldn't see that it was bothering her. She had heard and read the stories of the Triangle associated with the islands, and they weren't life affirming. She had not gathered that Will might be in that kind of danger.

"Is it all there?" he asked abruptly, pulling her from her thoughts.

She froze, momentarily perplexed, then, realizing what he was asking, blushed.

This time, he was unable to prevent a soft swear from slipping, but it seemed to go unnoticed by Elizabeth, who was looking anywhere but at him. He sighed. "What did you do with it?"

"You don't want to know," she insisted, fussing over her bandage. He stilled her motions with one hand and lifted her chin with the other, forcing her to look at him. Her mouth suddenly became parched, and she had to swallow a few times in order to regain her speech capabilities. "I flung it through the window and into the sea."

He closed his eyes for a second, mourning his loss. "And precisely what were you flinging?"

"Just a few goblets and plates. I needed more room for the apples," she rushed in a pleading tone, "and I figured that you had plenty of dining ware."

He let go of her chin and pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing another sigh. "According to the Articles," he said after a few minutes, "I _should_ inform the crew and let them pass judgment."

She winced.

"However, since the crew suffered no losses, and I'd rather not put Gibbs in the position of enforcing Moses' Law upon you, here's what we're going to do."

Her brows furrowed as she wondered what he was about to come up with now.

"You are going to repay every cent that you stoleâ€"" he held up a hand when she moved to interject "â€"yes, Love, _stole_ from me, and everything that occurred in this cabin today will stay here." He was gesturing animatedly as usual. "Furthermore, if we're ever going to find William Turner, we need to be able to communicate effectively without frequent amorphous acrimony or abjuration." He waited a bit, then pronounced in a softer tone, "I also find that you might want to restrain yourself from certainâ€¦misleading actions," he finished, looking down.

Bemused, she followed his gaze to find that she was unconsciously tracing patterns over the back of his hand with an index finger and toying with his many rings. "Of course," she agreed, pulling her hands away instantly and schooling her features against the embarrassment that she felt. She stood.

That sly grin of his was back where it belonged. "We have an accord, then?" he asked, offering his hand.

She eyed him for a second, then tentatively shook it. "Yes."

"Good. I assume you'll be heading for the galley?" he questioned as she opened the door.

"The galley?"

"Aye. It would seem that you are not very trustworthy when it comes to the bilge. Perhaps some cooking will be moreâ€¦suited to your talents." A thought occurred to him, "You can cook, can you not?"

"Of course."

"Of course," he repeated.

She smiled again before turning and practically running from his cabin.

Closing the door behind her disappearing figure, Jack pulled out the box that Captain Curry had given him for Elizabeth. "What to do with you?" he asked, looking over it, then decided, "Probably best to waitâ€¦for the opportune moment."

* * *

Original Content: 2003.08.20 


	4. Internecine

Disclaimer: Any names dropped here and found in the movie aren't mine, and anyone who claims otherwise owes me a lot of money.

Notes:  
This fic is currently being re-drafted, and the new chapters cannot be posted here until I've revised all of them. For the latest redone chapter, visit my profile, where you'll find a link. Feedback is still highly appreciated.

Also, please note that some author comments are embedded in the text since the brackets were taken out by TPB.

* * *

**Forty-Six & 2, Chapter Four - Internecine**  
_lethal to both sides_

"I am a member of this crew, and as such, I deserve the same benefits that the others receive," Elizabeth ranted, pacing to and fro along the poop deck.

Jack leaned back against the helm with his arms crossed, wearing an exasperated expression that only gave way momentarily to an unpreventable roll of the eyes. "While you are correct, Miss Swann, I would like to reinforce that each man _and woman_ aboard my ship is required to pull his own weight. As it is your turn to help guard upon our next docking, I'm afraid I must decline your request to join me in Bermuda."

"That's not fair! I had to remain aboard while we were in Tortuga."

"Considering that, yourself excluded, we are pirates, I feel I must remind you, yet again, that fairness is of no accord on the _Pearl_, and consequently, you were not a member of the crew at that time, so realistically, it betrays that your plea has neither foundation nor merit."

She stopped her pacing and huffed. Why was it that every time she had a conversation with the man, she ended up wanting to rip out every single strand of hair rooted to her scalp? Settling for a tactical alteration, she softened her features. "Captain Sparrow," she began meekly, "you owe this to me."

"Has what transpired in my cabin eluded your mind's grasp so swiftly?"

Her face scrunched up as she recalled her failed attempt at wickedness just two days ago. Jack claimed she was a thief, and she couldn't exactly refute that fact.

"On the same page now, are we? Then perhaps you might be on your way to the galley, as night seems to…be advancing…" he left the sentence unfinished as something caught his eye.

Puzzled, Elizabeth turned to follow his line of vision and saw an approaching vessel. A flag was being run up one of the masts, and the wind caught hold of it. She raised an eyebrow at the jack, "Pirates on a galleon?"

"What man in this cursed sea would be fool enough to offer no quarter to the _Black Pearl_?" he wondered aloud, eyes narrowing.

A tremor of fear and anticipation rocked Elizabeth's spine as she thought on a similar situation, and she breathlessly posed, "What are we going to do?"

Jack placed a hand on his chin in contemplation, smoothing over the hair there, while the unabashed excitement overtook his features. Ignoring a direct response to her, he spun around, barking, "Clear the decks, you decadent and raucous cads! The _Pearl_'s procured herself some attention. Seems these swine be needing a lesson in pirating, and I can think of none better suited for inculcating the proper instruction than the lot of us."

"The Cap'n be right, boys," Gibbs bellowed, eyes feasting upon the enemy ship. "Bring up Captain Death! Matelot, Tearlach, Duncan, ready portside guns!"

The men scattered about the decks, all itching with the prospects of an impending win.

Elizabeth was still watching the ship, noticing an influx of movement on the starboard side and trying to conceive just who the mysterious instigators might be by filtering through the many ship and pirate names and descriptions that had been filed away in her mind.

"Wha'll yeh have me do with her?" Gibbs asked from one of the short staircases.

Having forgotten the woman's presence for an instant, Jack slanted his eyes towards Elizabeth, who was now looking on expectantly. "Novice though she may be, I fancy the lady will make quite the powder monkey."

Stifling a protest, Elizabeth nodded, the task being a welcome alternative to a cabin lockdown, and made her way below, where she met with the chaos just like Galaxia! of an ill-prepared gun deck.

"What a'ya needin', Girlie? 'S'work to be done. No room for a kitchen wench," Duncan professed, carrying an armful of cannonballs.

"The Captain sent me down. He says I am to work the powder."

Pausing for a second, he sized her up. "Aye, then," he shrugged, quickly cozying up to the idea. "Better you d'n me." If you guys have trouble understanding my attempts at dialect, please don't hesitate to inform me.

Up top, Jack felt a minute my newt trill of dread creep through his body as the sun slipped into the ocean, and the first shots rang out from the other ship. He had never been one to favor artillery force over generally idle threats; he knew they would soon need to turn the battlefield to their advantage in order to neutralize any possibilities of a raking. Deciding not to even chance a broadside, given his cargo, he nodded to Joshamee, who shouted hasty orders to the men still on deck. Barrels and crates were unlashed and small arms removed. The men quickly positioned themselves in protected areas while Cotton brought the ship about, causing it to round on their adversaries.

Down in the gun deck, Elizabeth struggled with the huge powder bag, spilling some when the first cannonball was blasted from the _Pearl_.

"Hurry up with that, Missy," she heard one of the men urge.

Gritting her teeth, she topped off the powder and drove in a wad of paper before continuing on with the others, quickly picking up on the vital "duck and cover" intervals.

"Can't be less than sixty of them," Gibbs murmured, lowering his scope.

"Aye," Jack concurred as he took a cursory glance at the opposing vessel before directing his attention to those manning the cannons. "Chains and bars," he called. "Mother Nature's not on our side, nor are tact and time. Take her sails." His head jerked to the side when he spotted one of the riflemen searching for more ammunition. "Ladbroc! Get over here, Man!"

Below, Elizabeth pulled her hands away from her ears and began funneling gunpowder into another cannon. She tossed a nod to a nearby gunner, and then proceeded to the next awaiting gun.

She was fumbling with a wet fuse when Ladbroc grabbed her shoulder and tugged at her bag. "Cap'n Jack wants you topside," he explained shortly.

"Now?" she asked in disbelief.

He grunted what she deemed as a confirmation.

Practically growling, she thrust the sack into the man's chest and made her way up the stairs. She was about to step out onto the deck when someone took hold of her, retaining her in the awning. "Blast, what is so important that you need me up here in the middle of an engagement?" she erupted, swinging round to face her Captain.

Oddly pleased to find that she was undaunted by his grasp, Jack smirked. "Enjoying the onslaught, are we? What would your father say?"

"Likely, he would observe that you clearly are not as brilliant as everyone professes, if you're gamboling at a time like this."

He dropped his hand and backed up slightly. "You could be right about that."

She pursed her lips, her vexation terribly overt. "Well?" she prompted.

"Impatience is relatively unbecoming, do you not agree?" At her splenetic sigh, he moved on. "We have an injury on our hands; needs mending."

"I'm not a nursemaid."

"You would not mind informing old Mr. Cotton of that, now would you? Haven't the heart to do it m'self," he explained, donning a regretful, almost mournful look while folding his hands.

Her eyes widened. "Where is he?"

A wavering breath and a wayward glance. "Aftercabin."

She raised a questioning brow, but said, "I shall retrieve my bag from the brig."

"No time. You go to his side. I'll get it."

"Fine." She brushed past him and went to his quarters.

Her inner fist made contact with her forehead upon notation of the empty bed. She bolted through the refectory, only to be greeted with a tightly shut door. "Jack, don't do this! Jack!"

"Apologies for the smoke and mirrors, Love."

"Do not dare patronize me, you prevaricating scamp!" She assaulted the doorknobs to no avail. "You cannot do this. I'm a crewmember!"

"And I am your Captain, so, Miss Swann, you are hereby ordered to remain in this cabin until I come for you. Save you fancy the idea of your lover's reunion being hindered by a coffin, you will occupy your time in there with something exempt of vain contemplations of an escape, lest you actually achieve liberation."

**· § ·**

This was not his scene. He shivered just passing by it. He had spent years purposefully avoiding the place, and now, he was actually inside it: one of its patrons.

Shaking his head, Governor Weatherby Swann took a handkerchief from his jacket and swiped at the sweat that glistened across his brow before lifting his tankard off of the bar and heading over to a table at the back. There sat his reasons for this otherwise unnecessary trip to the less-than-reputable establishment. TweedleDee and TweedleDum actually, it was 1872, so lay off. A pair, indeed. "Gentlemen, how nice to see you this evening." He warily eyed their drinks. "I do hope that you are off duty tonight."

"Evening, Governor. Quite right, we're off duty. Not wise to be impaired while on watch," Murtogg replied.

"No, it is not."

"What brings you here, Sir?"

"Business, Mr. Mullroy. May I?" he requested, indicating a vacant chair at the table.

"Certainly, Sir. Why, we would be honored."

Nodding his appreciation, Weatherby took the seat. He strove to relax, to blend in, but he knew it wasn't working, even when he took a long draught of his drink. He tried not to look at it with _complete_ disgust when he replaced it onto the table; the stuff was absolutely abhorrently awful, nigh atrocious.

"You said you were here on business, Governor. Would it be any of ours?"

Hesitantly, he conceded the fact. "Yes. To my understanding, the two of you aided a well-known convict in his flight a few nights ago." His understanding was attributed to one of the stable boys who frequented the tavern and had overheard the mention of Jack Sparrow's escape. Apparently, while in an inebriated stupor (though truthfully, that inebriation was only a presumption), the two men had boasted about having crossed paths with the infamous pirate captain in recent days. There was also talk about him ravishing a nun, or something of the sort, and Weatherby had connected it with the report that Commodore Norrington had given him the day before.

Murtogg was choking. "Sorry, Sir. Could you repeat that?"

Weatherby sighed. He could tell it was going to be a long evening.

**· § ·**

The cries of the cannons had eased into a slow and steady rhythm. The battle was coming to a close, and it looked as though Captain Sparrow and his sparse crew had actually defeated the warship. That prefigured triumph fueled Jack's ambition, and he gave the boarding order, leading the flock himself.

In a matter of seconds, though, quiescence reigned. For as soon as he set foot upon the galleon, her sailors fell. Weapons slammed against planks. The cannons grew silent, and the entire ship slept. There were no pleas of mercy, nor battle wagers, for they were all dead.

"Stay back," Jack ordered those who were readying the gangplanks.

"What's got ya unearthed, Captain?" Gibbs called.

Jack shook his head, taking in the spectacle. Hands on hips, he stepped over to one of the deceased men and nudged him with the toe of his boot. He repeated this process several times with different unresponsive bodies, then turned to his crew. "Evidently run upon a dead ship." 'Or a cursed one,' he finished to himself.

"Rather she ran upon us."

He acknowledged the correction with an accepting nod. "We'll leave her purging to brotherly hands," he announced. He moved to the flagged mast and drew the banner down. He removed, then flipped it before finally sending it back into the air bottom-side up. Once done, he returned to his ship and had the somber crew resume course.

Admittedly, he was more shaken by the scene than he was letting on. It was not every day that an entire ship dropped dead upon boarding. He had half-expected some sort of protest from his crewmen, who he knew were looking forward to the raid, but none had come. For once, superstition had been on his side. Still, he promised them a future excursion to the Isla de Muerta and his own surplus of goodies before retiring to his cabins.

Remembering that he had the Governor's daughter holed up inside, he hesitantly unlocked the doors before he gripped one of the refectory knobs and twisted, belatedly receiving the neural transmission that alerted him to a burning sensation. Wrenching his hand away from the offensive doorknob, he yelped. "What in God's _name_, Woman?" he implored.

"Jack?" a tiny and surprised voice behind the door asked.

"Captain," he habitually redressed. He heard movement and a clanking noise. Then, the doors were opened, and she leaned against the frame, a folded apron in hand, her arms crossed. "Just what have you been doing in here?" he questioned, passing into the cabin, eyes shifting about.

"Protecting myself," she replied, following him.

"And how is marring me 'protecting' you?"

"You were the one spouting about coffins! Did you assume that I would merely kneel in prayer for a miraculous victory while the rest of you were slaughtered?"

"'Slaughtered,' Love? A bit dramatic, is it not?"

"You suddenly locked me up in here without explanation aside from a verse of morbid advice. I'm no simpleton. Obviously we were up against formidable opponents. I took fit measures."

"Indeed you must admit that a pail of hot coals is hardly 'fit' for defense. If this is how you secure yourself, I see no profit in reconsidering my decree that you remain on the ship while we are docked in Bermuda."

"But—"

"You aren't going and that's that. We'll no longer exhaust the issue. Now if you don't mind, I have some mending to do," he indicated his injured hand, "and you need to prepare the night's meal. Good evening, Miss Swann," he said dismissively.

Sighing, Elizabeth ungrudgingly left him to brood. She had more important things to grapple with.

**· § ·**

Commodore Norrington burst through the front doors of the Governor's mansion. "Governor Swann! Governor?" He had been to every one of the Port Royal missions and had not once encountered Elizabeth.

"Sir? Sir, is everything alright?" a rushing maid asked.

"I need to speak with the Governor immediately."

"Certainly, Sir. I'll go announce you. Won't you wait here?"

"That won't be necessary, Martha." Weatherby's head popped from behind a partially opened door. "We're here in the drawing room, Commodore. Please, do join us." He opened it wider, permitting the officer to enter and shut it behind him. He turned and indicated the man sitting in a chair by the fire. "This is Father Clary. He's brought us news of Elizabeth."

"Oh, Elizabeth? How is Miss Swann?" Commodore Norrington questioned, sizing up the middle-aged priest.

"Your daughter is a God-sent, Governor," the holy man said. "She went along with Father Avalon and a few of the sisters to the Havana missions."

"Oh my. How long do you suppose they will remain in Havana?"

The priest scratched his head. "A…a few months, perhaps?"

"Months? That hardly seems appropriate, given the timing and circumstances."

Clary glared at Norrington. "Perhaps it were a matter of weeks. Forgive me, _Commodore_, sometimes these things do slip from grasp when there are more sanctified events to be concerned with."

The officer balked. "Forgive me, Father. I meant no offense in the matter."

Weatherby cleared his throat. "Perhaps a late supper would ease us all, Gentlemen." He checked the clock. It was nearly midnight. 'Those two had better be taking care of things,' he told himself. Undoubtedly he was going to be unable to watch over the bumbling pair, as he was needed to preside over certain matters.

**· § ·**

Captain Sparrow was quite picturesque at the moment. While he now donned his jacket and hat over his customary garb, his feet were bare, one pant leg drawn up, due to a rather unhappy encounter in his cabin. He held a bottle of rum in hand as he let the other run lovingly over the helm while he gazed over his ship and the dark waters. His congested mind seeped into rumination.

For nearly a decade, Captain Jack Sparrow had been carefully plotting out his revenge against the man who he had gullibly considered trustworthy at one time. His first mate. Barbossa had taught him a lot, and he was eager to return the favor, but he had bided his time. He had been vigilant.

Commandeer a few ships. Ask enough, but not too many questions. Pick up a few decent comrades along the way. Wait for the curse to be lifted, the opportune moment. Caress his way to revenge.

He had followed through, his singular bloodlust guiding him.

Then, the opportune moment had come upon them, and Jack was ready, but there was one variable that he hadn't considered. A swan had gotten herself in the way. A frozen, pleading look and a glance at the boy had sealed the shot's fate.

And he was free, but the victorious exaltations that he had expected had not come. Instead, a cold feeling had washed over him, and he took reverie in the surrounding loot, leaving the reluctant pirate and the fraudulent sot to each other. After all, he did have everything that he wanted.

Or so he had thought. For the lady had taken his revenge savoring; his tiny crew had absconded with his beloved ship, and the Commodore was ready to courteously take his freedom and ever-lasting soul.

There he was, Death's hands clutching madly around his neck, his sentencing being proclaimed distantly. Despondently beaten, he longed for escape, but lacked the required momentum and purpose. It appeared that Jack Sparrow would meet with his end.

The order was given, and in that moment, just before the release, he snapped to attention and found his escape, a new vision of freedom, standing in the shadows of the fort.

Elizabeth Swann, daughter of a Governor, betrothed to a Commodore, but loved by a blacksmith, a proper lady, beholden to her society. One who clearly longed for something that was out of reach. One who represented that of which he had been deemed unworthy.

It was a vision that had waned all too quickly as the girl dropped out of sight. And then, he was sinking, his noose tightening, his whole body alive with the rush that was death, yet he was unimpeachably undead and almost remorsefully full of gratitude.

Years later, he had returned to Port Royal, having found his purpose. He was going to make Will Turner an offer that he wouldn't dare refuse, but instead of finding the malleable blacksmith, he had been faced with a bitter, jilted spinster. He should have abandoned her to the Commodore and her mundane life when he had the chance. Just what had made him go back for her after his latest escape in the first place?

Deciding almost immediately that he didn't want to know that answer, he ran a hand over his face. Their relationship was internecine at best, and after the earlier events of the day, he dubbed any lingering thoughts of the swan as masochistic.

Luckily for him, his finicky quartermaster jerked him from those particular contemplations.

"What be it now, Gibbs?"

"Sorry, Sir. We got problems below deck."

Raising an eyebrow, Jack motioned for a nearby man to take the helm and followed Gibbs.

Down in the mess, Elizabeth was meeting those problems head on. She swung her borrowed sword hard, working to defend herself from Marty's advances. Most of the crew had been eating when the fight had broken out, and they had migrated toward the door in order to give the pair proper sparing space and steer clear of any miscalculated strikes.

She lunged forward, taking a chunk of her opponent's plaited goatee, and held her mirth at the horrified look that she received from him. His play became livelier, and his blade sliced at her upper arm. Pausing for a moment to inspect the tiny stream of blood, she glared at him.

"Yeh said you were wantin' it to look real, Missy," he whispered accusingly.

"You could have at least warned me," she chastised, attempting a slash at his midsection.

He jumped back. "Watch it, Wench. It be me taking all the gambles here. Put anu'er mark on me an' ye'll be the one nursing 'em all nigh'."

Maturely, she made a face, sending the broad part of her blade into one of his inner thighs, causing him to topple. "Hah!" she exclaimed, edging the cutlass beneath his chin. "You were saying?"

He sighed discontentedly. "Be done with it, then."

She eyed him for a second, assessing his sudden demeanor-adjustment, then raised her sword, poising for attack.

"That's quite enough," an authoritative voice rang.

Holding in a grin, Elizabeth turned to see the Captain making his way through the undersized crowd, tailed by a fretful Mr. Gibbs.

Wordlessly, he relieved her of the weapon and handed it, along with his rum, over to Gibbs before ordering Marty to rise. "Show's over, men. Back to work!"

Grudgingly, the others trudged away, a few complaining about the loss of their meal.

"How to go about this?" Jack wondered, taking in the two who were furiously warring with their eyes. His own sent a pleading gaze toward the hidden heavens.

"Are we to stand here for the duration of the night?" Elizabeth asked.

Shaking his head, he fixed her. "Of course not. You may return to the galley." She opened her mouth, moving for contest, but a flat-lined-cutoff from his injured hand and an irritated glance shut her up. Rubbing at his left temple with the coordinating free hand, his other fingers insistently indicated the door that led to the galley.

Tossing her arms up in an act of annoyed acceptance, she did as he bade.

"What about this 'un?"

"Just…set him to the swabs for now. We'll chat later." He took his rum and waved the others away.

"Aye," Gibbs chirped, motioning for Marty to accompany him topside.

'Should be interesting,' Jack thought. He hungrily gulped down some of the rum, setting an anxious eye on the galley door. He pulled off his hat and jacket and dropped them onto the table, then removed his scabbard and pistol. "Best not give temptation a fighting chance," he decided, allowing them to clank onto the table with the other items. He took a step forward.

**· § ·**

"Right this way. We'll have you to your ship in no time, Father Avalon," Murtogg insisted, directing the age-weathered priest down the dock.

"So good of you gentlemen to take this upon yourselves. Truly good men."

"Y-yes. Thank you, Father," Mullroy said quietly, inwardly praying that the nearing rowboat would speed up. The Governor had ordered them to make sure that the priest got to his escort securely. His partner was a bit dim to figure out that Swann now held their welfare in his hands. The Commodore was not a prodding man, but the same could not be said of the Governor. He had agreed to keep certain information to himself as long as they undertook some "necessary tasks." Needless to say, they had been more than willing to comply.

"Ahoy there," called the row man, coming alongside the dock.

"Here you are, Father. We wish you safe passage."

"Thank you, thank you. God smiles upon good and loyal Navy men like yourselves. If only all of the soldiers were are gracious as you."

The two merely nodded, helping Avalon into the tiny boat. They waved him off.

"I've been thinking, Friend. Perhaps we should have a discussion with the Commodore. Come clean and all."

"But the Governor—"

"Sparrow did steal my boat, after all, and I heard that Miss Swann was headed for that mission as well. What if he knew her for the kind heart she has and went there to kidnap her? Why, we might receive a commendation."

Mullroy turned slowly to face the other man, desperately fingering his rifle.

**· § ·**

"I assume Will gave you some tutelage."

She cursed herself for jumping at the sound of his voice; she had been expecting him. "He only taught me some basics. 'Swordplay is not appropriate for a governor's daughter,'" she quoted most of the men in her life while placing a recently cleaned plate atop the short stack.

His throat uttered a reactionary filler. "Well, the crew says it was Marty who struck first," he was moving, "so I came to inquire as to whether or not you wish to conduct the ceremony."

"Hmm? There's going to be a ceremony?" she asked with apparent interest, scrubbing at a ladel.

"Aye. You're welcome to me own pistol, since you have none."

The dish slipped, and she whirled to face him. "And why might I need a pistol for the ceremony, Mr. Sparrow?"

His head slanted to one side in consideration. "Surely there is an infinite number of ways to properly see Marty to Davey Jones, but I hear the pistol leans more to the side of civility." He held a beat. "O'course, this is a pirate execution. If you wish another method, have your go."

Her soggy, soiled, and soapy hands had already covered her gaping mouth, and her eyes were wide as she registered everything. "Why on Earth are you executing Marty?"

"Now, Miss Swann, I must confess, you were a mite keener in your youth. Perhaps the sea's having malapropos influences over that head of yours?" When she offered no input, he continued, "The Articles govern those aboard this ship, M'lady. After all, organization—lax though it may often appear—is a requirement of a tight vessel; without it, not a man stands a chance versus Neptune. You once expressed your appetite for literary recounts of piracy; surely you can see how one might have been led into thinking that you would have embossed the standards on your mind."

A soft gasp escaped, and her petite hands fell. "Marty is to be shot because of me?"

"Aye." He leaned against a nearby beam and inspected his dirty nails. "Do you or do you not wish to be done with it yourself?"

She worried the inside of her lip for a few still moments. "It was I who struck first, so it shall be me whom you shoot."

"Back to giving orders again, are you?" His tone sank, "You'll do well to take into account your place on my ship before you speak."

She bit back a rebuke, settling for a facial display of all the disdain she could muster.

His arms crossed over his chest at her challenge, that maddening look of quizzical smugness adorning his features as he resumed his pursuit. "Is it true?"

She assumed he was questioning her proclaimation of guilt, and, gulping, she managed a strangled confirmation.

"A pity, then."

Her face contorted with sudden rage as she spat,"'A pity'?"

"Oh yes." He drew closer. 'Tis a bit of an ignominy, really: you being so poor at the art of craft."

Flustered, she paused, her mouth opening and closing twice in registration. "A-are you accusing me of _lying_?"

"You misunderstood me. I did not offer an accusation. I am, in fact, finding you guilty of making a terribly sore, and let us reinforce _fruitless_, attempt at proving your ability, or rather lack there of, to defend yourself, given worthy adversary and reason."

She rubbed an arm over her forehead, avoiding him and his dead-on sumation and berating of her antics.

"So you conned Marty into going along with that little ploy, eh?" A sigh of frustration was his reply. "Tell me, Love, why is it that you find yourself willing to go to any means that might get you onto that little island?"

"I'd think it obvious," she gave, almost nonchalantly, dropping her gaze. She smirked. "I see you found the glass," she said, speculating at his bare feet and leg. The rolled-up cuff revealed a few fresh cuts and scratches.

"Actually, it found me. Amazing, the amount of trouble you caused with some glass and a well-placed tether strung along a few spare pulleys." He scowled. "Just where did you come by all those shards?"

"They weren't from your precious rum bottles," she returned nastily, backing into the wash bin as he advanced another step.

"Well, you shall be delighted to know, I'm sure, that you've got yourself a full night ahead of you. As there's no doubt my cabin's full of these little ruses, you shall be purging dbz flashbacks it of all your creations, once you are done in here, of course."

"If it offers any appeasement, they were not meant for you."

He placed his hands behind his back, stilling their expressions. "Somehow, I have difficulty buying into that. Now, if we could return attention back to the subject, Darling. Why do you want so badly to go ashore?"

"Will," she admitted finally. "I owe it to Will. And-and it would seem that I'm indebted to you as well." He was suddenly very close again. Just how did he do that? Barely an arm's length of space separated them now.

"Ah yes, my repayment."

"I have a few items of value that I can put up."

"No."

"No?"

"No, that basis isn't going to work. As you're constantly asserting, you are a member of the crew. Once we find fit game, you'll likely be able to offer a full settlement."

"Oh," she said simply.

He allowed his arms to fall before him. "Still, should you have your heart set upon a respite from the sea, you might put you efforts into a," he made an involved motion with his hands, "new course. Perhaps..." he looked away for an instant and sniffed, "a friendly supplication?"

She shut him out for a second, again toying with her inner lip. "I…may I please go to the island with you?" She opened her eyes to see that he had crept forward.

"Not too dishonorable, I hope, pleading with a pirate." Her dissatisfied look told him enough. "Very well, Miss Swann, you may accompany me to Fort Brine; as long as you look the part, we should meet with only minor hitches."

"I'm no pirate," she stressed warily. She knew very well that Fort Brine was a notorious pirate hang out.

"Right you are." He leaned closer, eyes darkening. His mouth moved to her ear. "But just between you and I, pirates are made, not born, and once the sea has her grasp on you, no man nor woman," he pulled back slightly and lowered his eyes, "is capable of resistance," he purred, his gaze travelling along with the rush of pink that bloomed from her chest and flooded into her cheeks until it clashed with hers. "Savvy?"

Lids lowering until she found herself intently eyeing his sly mouth, she white-knuckled the wash bin, arching backwards over it, away from Jack.

Noting this, he took a retreating step and glanced over her shoulder. "Best get to work, Miss Swann. Wouldn't want to waste the entirety of this _exquisite_ night with the dishes, now would you?"

Swallowing again, she numbly replied in the negative.

"I thought not. My cabin stands no chance of being rightened otherwise." He straightened. "I'll leave you to it, then. Should you find yourself in need of my…assistance, you know where to locate me," he said before abruptly exiting the galley.

Erratically laboring to fill her lungs, Elizabeth turned so that she could splash a good bit of the chilly, filthy water on her face. She scrubbed at it madly with the front of her already damp dress. "Pirate. He's a pirate, and he turned Will into one too." She breathed deeply, and stared down at her reflection in the murky water. "Will," she whispered desperately.

'Internecine, indeed,' Jack thought as he resumed his stay at the helm.

Presently, though, a deadly encounter with the swan was anything but objectionable.

'Will's swan,' he reminded himself. 'Pandora's box. The Sirens' song. Forbidden fruit of Eden.' Something forever sought after, but never had. A conquest.

A grand and toothy grin danced about his features.

Captain Sparrow did love a good conquest…

* * *

Original Content: 2003.09.13 


	5. Inicimal Effects

Disclaimer: Any names dropped here and found in the movie aren't mine, and anyone who claims otherwise owes me a lot of money.

Notes:  
This fic is currently being re-drafted, and the new chapters cannot be posted here until I've revised all of them. For the latest redone chapter, visit my profile, where you'll find a link. Feedback is still highly appreciated.

Also, please note that some author comments are embedded in the text since the brackets were taken out by TPB.

* * *

**Forty-Six & 2, Chapter Five - Inicimal Effects**  
_detrimental or devastating happenings_

She had been craving this for days now. Normally, a hefty pot of scalding water fresh from the fire place, a tiny cake of 'borrowed' soap, and a musty, shabby rag did not constitute much of a bath—not when one had been living in a Governor's mansion for most of her life, but after only having been able to spot-wash herself with rather grungy water for nearly the past week, it was above and beyond what Elizabeth had come to expect. Of course, she imagined that the Captain would not be too thrilled if he knew what she was actually doing in his cabin. He had hauled her in there after the galley and mess had been given proper cleanings. He had deemed it as punishment for turning Marty, but she knew he was just peeved about the glass.

It really was not her fault that he had come upon one of the little traps. She had tried to warn him, but he would have none of it. Perhaps that had something to do with the mysterious attackers, though he had never been prone to listen to her, even without distraction.

Stripping off her slightly putrid dress and bodice left her in only her shimmy and nether garments, and she began to cleanse herself, easily becoming enchanted by each swipe of the cloth that was so effectively ridding her skin of filth.

When finished, she went to the dingy bureau mirror located just inside the aftercabin to inspect her restorations. _Hosanna!_ She resembled a woman again. If her father, the Commodore, or Will were to view her now—so enthralled with being able to gaze upon her own countenance—they would certainly think her juvenile, or perhaps even mad. On second thought, it was unlikely that Will would come to such a conclusion, as he too had endured hard times. And though she realized that she was still being well sheltered from the thick of it, she could not help but maintain that the experience somehow bonded them, much like Barbossa's interlude had. In fact, the situations were quite similar. Only this time, she was the one sailing away with Jack in order to rescue Will, and she was sure that cursed pirates had nothing to do with it—well, pretty sure.

What she was not sure of was whether or not he would want to be rescued from wherever he was and whomever he might be with.

Achingly, she scrutinized her reflection, summoning up another time not so long ago, a time when she had been looking into a mirror much like this one. Her eyes had been aglow and her cheeks rosy. (The bit of paint she had coerced a reluctant housemaid into applying had highlighted her features charmingly.) The elegant dress flowed around her person splendidly, the tiny pearls on its lace overlay twinkling in the light of the sinking sun.

Hours later, it had been ruined, practically shredded, by the unforeseen tempest that followed what was supposed to be her reception. Her father and Norrington had pleaded with her, trying to persuade her to leave the pier. Ignoring them, she had held her guard, taking the thrashings from the wind, rain, and her own inner squall, until Will's young apprentice had come with word of her beloved's departure.

She shook her head as unshed tears fought for release. She had not cried then, and she would not do so now. Not when everything she wanted was so close to being had. She was going to find Will Turner today and, with a will pun intended? I think so., get answers to the many questions that had been plaguing her mind. After this day, her life would embark on a new journey; she just hoped that he would want to be a part of that.

After being informed of her talented blacksmith's abandonment, she had finally left the pier, silence claiming her as a battle raged within. Two nights after the wedding-that-never-was, she had put an end to her upset by burning the wretched dress. Her father had pulled her away from the hearth, but stood back with her to watch the battered thing slip into oblivion, while the alarmed Commodore muttered what she had discerned as, "rash."

Destruction seemed to mark many significant events in her life: the loss of her mother, the move to Jamaica, the day a pirate saved her life before threatening it, the struggle to hold the _Interceptor_, the night she fought for her love and was saved for a second time by that same pirate, and her wedding. Why should her new era be any different?

An abrupt nod ruled on the matter. She hastily scanned the cabins for an outlet no, not the electrical kind. Finally coming upon an appropriate tool, she returned to the bureau. She took a few deep breaths before lifting a thick lock of her partially damp hair and drawing it over the narrow blade of a tatty dagger. She swept her arm forcefully and managed to hack most of the multi-stranded ribbon off, holding in a screech of unanticipated pain. Another bout of moisture stung her eyes, but it did not pass her barriers.

She had nearly completed a third of it when she caught something passing in the mirror, and she looked up to find the Captain in the doorway.

Startled, Elizabeth hesitantly faced him, giving him a full view of the mess that she had created of her hair, her tresses framing a face filled with harrowingly composed determination.

Fighting the urge to smirk at the sight, he entered his cabin and set aside a small bundle before going to her. He extracted the dagger from her upsettingly trembling grasp and resumed the task for her, taking excessive care to crop as gently as possible, given her somewhat unstable condition.

Once the final lock had been separated, he held it before her. "Memento?"

She accepted and examined it thoughtfully for a second. Then she shook her head. "I don't need it," she convicted, letting it cascade down to join its brethren on the floor.

He set the dagger away, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Not bad," he commented, taking in the new style that left her honey-kissed molasses curls falling just above her earlobes.

Elizabeth had been convincing herself that she liked the change, but that train had derailed as soon as he had taken hold of her mostly bare skin with such familiarity. Her eyes clashed with his in the mirror before she vaulted away, rounding on him. "Just what…I-you…_not_—" She faltered at his delinquent gaze and rushed to cover herself with her arms as best she could. "_Naked!_ I'm naked!"

"_Half_-naked, actually. But I would not hinder progress, should you wish to bring truth to that outcry."

Her jaw dropped, and for a moment, she could only gawk at him in horror. "Aren't you even going to turn away!" He had the audacity to appear bemused by her incredulity.

"Why would I want to do that?" He was enjoying the show far too much.

Was he serious? "Any decent man would!"

"I am what I am, Love, and that's a pirate, the epitome of moral decay and a generally really _bad_ egg," Jack countered with a sweeping gesture. "All too easily have you forgotten that fact, when it was not but days ago that you, my dear, were more than happy to point it out, rather profusely, might I add. Besides, it's only your skivvies," he continued, "nothing I've not to previously lay eyes upon."

She could see this was going nowhere, as he was likely right and well-versed in feminine attire and its removal. That last sentiment sent an updraft of flame into her face, and she sifted through a few very graphic images to find some coherency. Her chin rose. "Well, you could at least restrain yourself from ogling my body. I assure you that it is quite normal in all respects and not worth comparison with those upon which you have gazed while they were lacking barrier."

Really, he couldn't help the grin that clung to his lips. Her words put him in mind of a diplomat during high negotiations. He was wondering whether or not to express that he doubted he would possess the inclination to agree with her on the issue, as the glimpses of her huffing curves that he was getting were telling a far different story, but he quickly snuffed the idea, opting to avoid a perfect scarlet handprint marring one or both of his cheeks. He made an exaggerated show of ripping his eyes away from her form and meeting her icy glare before he cleared his throat. "Did you take care of matters?"

"Yes. You're sure to incur no more injuries on my part. I was just having moment to myself. Taking care of a few…things."

"Oh yes," he said seriously. "The lady has my apologies for imposing upon her in my own barracks."

She grimaced and allowed herself a quick fantasy in which she stabbed him numerous times. Cuedly, her eye caught the dagger, and she considered it for half a second, before returning to her senses—mostly. She had never had so many violent notions in one week. If it weren't for the 'innocent' little stunts that he had been letting her get away with, she would have surely bludgeoned the man by now. She pasted on a sugary visage. "No, no. You had every right, of course, _Captain_." A mock curtsy followed, arms firmly in place over her chest. "Thank you for your assistance."

"Pleasure was all mine. That reminds me." He took up the bundle and held it out it to her. "Brought you something," he offered.

She lifted a brow.

"What? Don't want it?" He moved it around, presenting it several times in an attempt to make it more alluring.

She only hugged herself tighter in response, not about to give.

"Ahh.," his mischief gleaming. "No worries, Miss Swann. I'll leave you alone with it, safe from prying eyes." He deposited the package onto the bed, then exited, pulling the door to as he passed through the archway.

He heard metal scrape against wood as she ushered a stubborn lock into its place. Muffling a chuckle, he looked around for something that would occupy his wait and found it.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth slouched against the dresser eyeing the items spread over the bed in distaste. 'He must be reveling in this.' Certainly he was awaiting some blatant complaint from her. Likely wanting to go back on the allowance he'd made. She wasn't about to let that happen. "We'll just have to make do," she mumbled, reminding herself that it was for Will.

Jack was just pocketing the little trinkets when the lock was slid out of the way, and she tentatively stepped into the refectory, sporting a pair of grubby brown, sagging slacks that were rolled up so that the rims of her shoes what are those things she wears? clogs? showed, a splotched, oversized shirt that had probably been white at one time, and a gray cap that she had managed to stuff her remaining hair into. The corners of his mouth upturned once again, and he zeroed in, not quite content with the image she presented. After a moment's consideration, he removed the cap, freeing her curls, then untied the thin leather string that laced the shirt's opening up to her neck, where it would have v-ed down to her midriff. He slipped it from a couple of the topmost tiny holes and let the ends dangle freely.

He looked down at her waist. "That will not do," he commented about the drooping breeches, more to himself than her. An anxious palm moved to cradle his hairy chin while he mulled it over. "Ah," he snapped his fingers. He moved past her and into his cabin and opened one of the bureau drawers, then, slamming that one, went to another one from which he took a smudged crimson sash. At her pointed look, he shrugged. "Should do the trick." He held it out for her, but when she failed to take it, leaned forward, putting his arms behind her and pulling it to around her waist.

Finding herself parched again, she cleared her throat. "I-I can do that myself, thank you," she said breathlessly.

"Good." He let her take the cloth between her hands. "Now about these," he began, fingering one of her cherubic earrings, "not something a pirate would wear." Before she could protest, he dislodged both of the golden angels and tossed them to the side. "But as your mind has not been it's sharpest, we'd better not take the chance of letting your eyesight become dull." That said, he took the newly constructed earrings from one of his pockets and placed them into her lobes.

Elizabeth faced the mirror, eyes widening at the sight of the huge things. One was a shark tooth, and the other was some gem or another and a few feathers. "Oh Heavens…"

"Sure you don't need a hand with that?"

Confused, she turned her head to see him staring down at her idle hands. "Quite." She finished securing the sash, then crossed her arms over her stomach, tilting in askance.

"Better. What else?" he wondered. "Ah yes," he remembered, pulling an object from his back waistband.

"A pistol?"

"Aye. No pirate is complete without a weapon, and you don't have to be so close to your opponent when you use it." He offered it, and she accepted.

It was a bit shorter than Jack's, consisting of stained brass, walnut, and what appeared to be turtle shell on part of the butt. She ran her fingers over it. "It's a beautiful piece," she admired.

"Yes, it is, and I'll be expecting it back in that same condition, if you don't mind." He paused. "Can you use it?"

"You mean, can I shoot someone with it?"

"Aye."

"I've fired a rifle before."

"Well, there's not much else to it," he admitted, taking it from her. "Right now," he began, "it's unloaded." He took a pouch from another pocket. "When you want to load it," he emptied the pouch's contents onto the dresser, "you pull back the dog-head until it clicks once. Then, you take your powder," he picked up a wad of paper and ripped it opened with his teeth, spilling some of the gunpowder as he dumped it into the barrel and reached for the small lead ball. "Next, your shot," he narrated, dropping it in. He swung the ramrod into place and packed it all down. "Make sure it's tight. Then you pull this back again when you've got them in your sights," he tripped the hammer, "and you're ready." He snapped it back out of place and knocked out the shot before passing the arm to her. "Your turn."

After three tries, she loaded it flawlessly.

Taking it again, he let the hammer down gently. "Now let's talk about maintenance. You pistol is your pride. Life on the high seas can be rather tedious at times. That is why the code calls for a pirate to keep his arms clean. Keeps one from mulling over idiotic ideas." His eyes narrowed. "Like mutiny. Out here, your pistol can sometimes be your sanity, and we wouldn't want that falling into disrepair, now would we?"

Jack was starting to sound a lot like Mr. Gibbs—kind of superstitious and loony. She pointed that fact out to him.

He gave her a look, sliding the pistol into her sash and pulling the shirt out over it. "Just keep it clean, Love," he ordered before heading out to the main deck.

**-------------**

"_Ten_! God, who knew there were that many!"

Governor Swann rolled his eyes at the ruffian who was slumped down in the brig, sulking. "Any priest would know all ten Commandments, any _valid_ one at least."

"You said there might be a few questions, not a bloody interrogation!"

"Mind your tone, Sullivan, or I may be forced to inform Commodore Norrington of your foul language towards my daughter. It was not so long ago that he was investigated for an alleged and uncalled for keelhauling." Idle threats and lies, but Sullivan was unaware of those facts, and Weatherby was not about to put up with his outbursts after the man had set aflame all of his hard labor and planning.

Commodore Norrington had seen right through the priest's clothing to the pirate within. He had instantly conduced (fortunately and inaccurately) that Sullivan was in cahoots with Sparrow and had also devised that the pirate captain had absconded with Elizabeth. Of course, Weatherby could not tell him that he thought it was somewhat the other way around, as he was not sure of things himself; nor was he about to incriminate himself when he had no idea as to whether or not she had gone of her free will or by force. Norrington had then proclaimed that they should go after her, and he had easily convinced the Commodore that he should accompany the party, as his daughter's welfare was at stake.

The Governor had also managed, though faced with quite some opposition, to coax him into allowing Sullivan to live, as he might provide more information concerning Sparrow's plan and whereabouts. A win that he regretted more and more with each passing moment.

Presently, the hired pirate was attempting to pick the cell's lock with a rusty nail and looked to be having some luck.

Weatherby cleared his throat. "I am right here, Sullivan."

"Frank."

"Pardon?"

Heaving a sigh, the man swerved his eyes in the Governor's direction. "M' mates call me Frank the Skank." He sounded rather proud of the title.

"Indeed." He shifted. "Francis, then. You remember our deal? Your silence about our recent transaction for your life." hehheh, anyone who catches it gets a cookie

"Aye, I remember. It's not like yeh've much to worry about, though. No one's fool enough to take the word of a pirate over th' Governor's."

"My line of work does not leave much of an opening for taking chances."

"I'd wager so. Now ha' is it that ya plan on gettin' me outta here?"

"Commodore Norrington said earlier that the _Dauntless_ shall soon arrive in Tortuga. Your stop is there."

Sullivan smiled blissfully. "Tortuga. Me own 'eaven on Earth."

"Yes," Weatherby drew slowly. "There are only a few ways for us to get onto the island while creating a distraction at the same time."

"Hold up there for a moment, Gov'nor. 'Us'?"

**-------------**

"'There's yur key," the female innkeeper told Elizabeth, indicating a small table in the corner of the shabby room. She had lengthy black hair and a rather well-endowed figure, and Elizabeth unconsciously sought out her own shortened locks, some ghosts of regret sinking in. "Ev'rythin's been nailed down, save for the sheets 'n pilleh, which 'm only pr'vidin' in part of yur friend." She handed the comforts over to the girl.

"I'm very much obliged, Miss…" she poised for the other woman's name.

"Call me Georgia."

She smiled. "Thank you, Georgia." She set the covers onto the slim bed.

"If yeh want ta be thankin' me so much, yeh can start by tellin' me why it is tha'cher rooming sep'ritly from Captain Jack Sparrow."

Elizabeth's eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. "P-pardon? How anyone could be inane enough to wish to shar—" If looks could kill, Georgia would have flat-lined Elizabeth on the spot. She coughed blatantly. "I mean, I don't see that particular information being pertinent to a clerk. We are, after all, paying for two rooms. Quite the fair shake you're getting, I think."

"Well, you're welcome to think all you want," she said, her accent odd dropped momentarily. She went to the bed and began unfolding the sheets. "I was only asking because I prefer my men unfettered, and as you can probably tell, relatively decent men are few and far between around here."

Relatively decent? _'Any decent man would!'_ the outburst from earlier resounded in her mind. Perhaps she should have further specified the comment to Jack. She moved to assist Georgia. "Captain Sparrow's only 'fettered' to his ship, and even then, things are still up in the air at times. Rarely lets her out of his sight, though." She crossed the room to the single window that faced the distant shore and motioned for the keeper to follow suit.

"That one there?" she asked, pointing in near-amazement. "That's the infamous _Black Pearl_?"

"Yes." Elizabeth frowned. "It's too bad her sails are down."

"Aye, 'tis," she slipped back into her grainy drawl. "Still a beaut, though."

"That she is," she amended under her breath. Then, louder, "Jack says that the _Black Pearl_ is freedom. 'Anywhere we want to go, we'll go,' he says."

Georgia turned slightly. "'We'?"

She cleared her throat. "Yes, well, the Captain's got a sweet spot for lady rum. He wasn't exactly sober when he said that."

"Ah, I see. Yur Captain's fair game, then, is 'e?"

She nodded. "Have your go."

And having her go she was. Elizabeth should feel bad, really, sending a good woman to the bedchamber of Jack Sparrow, using her as a pawn while she crept out of the hostelry. A furtive grin polluted her demeanor, and she delved into the pocket of her trousers to retrieve one of her most coveted items as she stepped out into the street.

Holding it up into the partial sunlight (for it was quite the overcast day in Fort Brine), she examined the silver trinket. It was the engagement ring that Will had given to her. He had crafted it with his own hands and had appeared almost shamed to be giving her such a thing. He knew her shoes had been more expensive than the tiny ring, but she had assured him that it was perfect, that none other would do for them. And she meant it. Loving Will had never been about wealth, and even her father had expressed how fine the thing was, though she knew not whether he had truly been sincere.

She situated the ring on its appropriate finger and strolled along the streets of Fort Brine, trying to decide which ruddy establishment would be the best place to start.

Meanwhile, at the inn, Jack laid upon his bed, moaning. "Madam, you are far too kind." He waited for a moment, a thought settling in. "Shall I be billed for this?"

"Well, that all dep'ns on yurself, Captain," she replied, shoving a palm farther up his spine, in an attempt to alleviate some of the collected tension through massage.

"Does it now? Possibly, then, we'll be seeking other...arrangements?" He arched when she hit a particular spot, dropping his head back down on his arms.

"Aye, Sir. 'T'would be the idea."

He turned over and gazed up at her, surprised to be surprised by her response. A grimness crossed him. He had gotten too used to being able to say something like that and getting a much different reaction. Usually in the way of a blush. From his newest crewmember. Aye, Jack Sparrow had been away from the charms of a willing woman for far too long.

Reaching up, he pulled the keeper's head down to his, tasting her.

'Not bad.' Perhaps this respite would do him some good after all. So long as it helped get that pestering swan out of his head.

_  
"Yeh can't be serious about this, Cap'n!"_ he heard the quartermaster's shout from this morning replay in his head. _"Fort Brine is no place for virtuous wenches. Ye must protest." _

_"Been there, Gibbs," Jack said with a wave of his hand. "The lady will not take 'no' for an answer." _

_"But yer her Captain! Certainly, you can order that she stay behind." _

_"She's a problem with authority," he commented dryly, eyes on Elizabeth's lithe form as she leaned over a section of the port bulwark. He flinched as her retching sounds made their way to his ears. "She'll be under my watch for the duration of our outing. You've naught to concern yourself with." _

_"She's a lady, Jack," the man delivered softly. _

_"Definitely no need to inform me of that." His gaze was redirected to the other man. "Just what has you fretting for the girl all of a sudden, anyway? It was not long ago that you headed the demand that she be put off the ship." _

_"Now ye needn't go a'getting snippy with me, Mister. I only be carrying out m' duties as quartermaster, and ye must be reminded that 'tis only pirates who linger in Fort Brine, and looks aside, she ain't no pirate."_

Jack had only shook his head and made his way over to the lady.

He groaned. Not a pirate. Well, what was he expecting? He should have listened to Gibbs and left the troublesome little minx on the _Pearl_, where she at least wouldn't be quite so able to cause him bodily harm.

And thinking of the swan…

He pulled away slightly from Georgia. "Awful quiet in there, isn't it," he observed, looking to the wall that parted his room from the lady's.

Elizabeth cautiously scoured the area, keeping her eye trained for any suspicious-type characters. Well, actually, everyone in Fort Brine looked rather suspicious, so she watched for the suspiciously suspicious town-goers. She recalled an earlier conversation with Jack.

She had been retching over the side of the ship.

_  
Jack leaned back towards the bulwark beside Elizabeth, propping his weight on his elbows. "Believe it or not, you actually grow used to it after a while." _

_Lifting up slightly and turning her head, she gave him a look of skepticism. "It's worse than the bilge." _

_"Aye, that it is." He sounded awfully sober. _

_"Does the whole place hum like this?" _

_"Not at all, though I wouldn't say the island aroma of decay and rum is much of an improvement over burning flesh." _

_Her stomach churned violently. He couldn't be serious. "H-human flesh?" _

_He nodded. "The devils lure aground passing vessels. Sack and burn them. Call it a Triangle, as reach extends to two other ports. No rules out here, nor regard for the code." _

_She barely heard the last part, as she was further indisposed over the railing. _

_Jack playfully cuffed her shoulder. "Look alive, Poppet. Port's just out of reach," he indicated the nearing docks. _

_"Thank Heavens," she sighed in relief, ignoring his light, mocking laughter. She straightened, rubbing her hands over her arms as a couple of shivers slithered through her being. She had been noticing the temperature-change over the past three days, it slowly dropping as they sailed farther north. Where she had grown used to the rather warm autumns, she was now experiencing weather that was a lot cooler. _

_"This way, if you please," Jack was saying._

And after that, they had gone ashore.

Presently, she gulped, thinking that her bright idea to go in search of Will all by herself was not such the wise choice after all, as she had been gone for quite some time now and was receiving far too many curious glances for comfort. She was fingering the pistol that was stashed within her sash when she stopped in her tracks, a sign catching her eye as it started to rain.

Captain Sparrow stepped out into the downpour, one hand clutching at the weapon in its holster, the other nursing a new welt on the side of his face from where the put-off mistress had belted him. Elizabeth Swann be damned when he caught up with her.

**-------------**

"Ye there! Come forth, man. I wish t' confess me many sins."

Mullroy looked over at the prisoner as his companion passed over to the cell. This was not good. It was only a few hours since he had gotten his partner drunk enough to convince him that telling the Commodore of their encounter with Sparrow was, in fact, a bad idea.

"What's that?" Murtogg asked.

"I want to tell yeh where Miss Swann c'n be found."

"Do you now? The Commodore will be quite pleased to hear it."

"Yes, yes. But first, I've some demands. See, I want ta have a nice lil' cage fer meself, and since we're t' be some time asea, I'll be needin' these here leaks fixed."

"Leaks?"

"Aye. Now, the both of yeh come over 'ere, and I'll show 'em to ya, then yeh can go get yur Commodore."

Murtogg waved Mullroy over, and the chubby man rolled his eyes but followed the order.

Sullivan proceeded to point out several small holes—three, which weren't even there—then turned to the men. "An' this 'ere pot'll have t' be cleaned 'least five times a day," he said, lifting his urinal. He held it out to the guards, who looked at each other.

As they were distracted, Weatherby took his chance and cracked the shorter one over the head with a fire log, and Francis simultaneously beaned the other with the offending pot.

Swann lifted the keys off Murtogg and freed Sullivan.

"A fine job, Gov'ner."

"Thank you, my boy. Now, let us not tarry." They clamored up to the main deck, and he called, "No, don't shoot!"

In turn, Frank cocked the rifle that he had snatched from one of the soldiers. "No un move, or yer Gov'ner 'ere gets it."

"What are you doing, Sullivan?" Norrington demanded in a mildly bored tone.

"I believe he is escaping, Commodore."

"Quiet, you, or there'll be a whole in ya big 'innof t' pass a rudder through." He poked Swann between the shoulder blades for good measure. "Now look, here's 'ow it's all goin' ta go down. Yer t' stand aside and let me gets meself inta the town, and once I'm sure nary of y'uns has dared folluh me, I'll send 'im back, all in one piece."

**-------------**

He had expected that she would have gotten herself into some precarious situation by the time he located her—perhaps giving a tongue-lashing to a poor, but lethal drunkard who had made the mistake of 'complimenting' her on her assets. Or possibly, she would be in a grog shop with fifty or so scoundrels surrounding her, festering to make good on threats of shutting her up permanently due to the volume of prodigious questions that she had no doubt put forth.

And for each predicament that his mind amassed, there had been measured out the precise amount of fast-talking and finesse necessary to absolve her, after letting her fret for a bit, of course. Jack was still quite miffed…at least, he had been.

But this…well, in this instance, his brain was dually failing as he beheld the scene before him.

She was safe. Completely and undeniably safe actually, and that was not a wonder, as she was in a graveyard of all places. 'Always in the last place you look, they are.'

The problem with this little vignette was that she was down on the ground, her hands viciously clawing away at the hallowed earth like it had done to her some great wrong. Low howls that were akin to some sort of battle cry reached his ears through the bombardment of rain, and he finally shook off his skin of bewilderment, making his way over to her. "What's all this?"

If she noticed him, she chose to ignore it.

This was not good.

"Come now, Love. This cannot be beneficial to the local plant life." With only lingering silence as his answer, he gave up, kneeling before her. "Some grand treasure I'm unaware of, I wonder? Quite moved am I that you would go to such lengths in order to plank down your debt to me, but I feel I must warn you of the rather inimical effects that seem to tag grave robbers." He allowed a few moments to slip by, wherein she only wrenched harder at the mud. Then, growing frustrated, he clutched her shoulders, and commanded in a gentle but firm voice, "Elizabeth, stop this madness now."

And she did. Her eyes slowly traveled upward until they locked with his, the surprise of his previously unacknowledged presence clear. Her mouth began to move, but no sound came.

He quelled the futile motion with the light brush of his three longest fingers. "Allow me. In your imprudent and absentminded flight, you failed to recognize that you would be lacking in the congenial company of the superbly sumptuous and sensuous scalawag known as Jack Sparrow, Captain of the _Black Pearl_ for the day's entirety, and this rather egregious oversight has led you to this foolishness, right?"

Wrong.

A forceful hand pushed him away, sending him reeling, and he had to prevent a sure topple by thrusting his palms into the mud behind him. "You no good, bloody _barbarous_ pirate!" she shrilled, pounding at his chest with her fist, the action accented by a moan of thunder. "How could you?" she diminished to a menace-laced whimper.

He eyed her muddy hand. "Do my transgressions now number plus one?"

Some realization of what she was doing must have sunk in, for she recoiled, pain lighting across her features. She dropped both arms to the soil again, in apparent defeat. Her eyes sought out the marker. "I found him," was her raw explanation as she lowered her head.

He turned slowly to dredge for the slab of wood, his left hand reaching out to graze along its etchings. This was not in the plan. Any of them. Nowhere in his remedies was there a prompt reading 'Should the lad be found lost to Davy Jones…' Although…

"All this time," she trembled. "All this time that I could have been out searching. Wasted. And now…and now," she broke off, her face crumpling in a forlorn rip.

Was that a tear?

He leaned forward, one set of knuckles brushing the delicate mar from her skin.

"What am I to do now, Jack?" she asked on the breath of a whisper.

A grim half-smile lifted the corner of his lips. "You'll fare." His dirty palm fell to her shoulder, and he considered, for a moment, an embrace, but it was forgotten when something far beyond her caught his eye.

Flickering torches. And flickering torches meant returning workers. 'The shallow runners.'

He snapped back to Elizabeth. "We have to go."

A wavering gaze found his, and she took him in for a second before slowly shaking her head. "I won't leave him."

He sprang up. "You've not a choice in the matter," he informed her gruffly. His hand shot down to her.

She obstinately pretended to look straight through it.

With a growl, he grasped her under the arms and lifted her up, as a child would a doll.

She backed away. "Jack, please," she begged.

That was not the supplication he had been seeking. He presented an expression of true regret. "I've no choice in the matter either." A hand on her shoulder pointed her in the direction of the torches. "Those are the ones who control the Triangle. Should they find a woman such as yourself in the burial grounds alone, they would be all too happy to delight themselves in your charms before refilling that hole with you in it."

"No," she persisted.

A few of the torches paused, just long enough to set Jack off. Without allowing her more protest, he took her wrist and began a jettison through the torrents. As he made for the inn, he vaguely heard her enraged cries, the wind taking most of her verbal onslaught. No contest that she was surely damning him and his savage name. Still, he kept the hasty pace, gliding about the cobbles until they came to the hostelry, where he abruptly jolted in halt.

She slammed into his back, causing him to stagger and lose his grip on her. She, however, lost no time, twisting and dashing in the direction of the cemetery.

Barely four steps had been taken before his arm wound around her waist, hauling her backwards. She lashed out—hitting, pinching, pulling, pushing, and scratching, but he held fast, managing to sidle them through the doorway.

"Evening, Virginia," he casually greeted the keeper, who was eyeing what must have been a bizarre play with mild interest.

"Georgia," she tossed in offense.

"Terribly sorry." Elizabeth's elbow wedged just below his ribs. "Oof."

"You're forgiven," Georgia sang.

"Many thanks." He struggled to the staircase. "It would be the best interests of all involved if you would offer some cooperation, dear Miss Swann."

"Release me this instant, you condescending, dastardly boor!"

"You," he marked, swiveling until he was at her side, "are making," his right arm kept her pressed to him while the left moved beneath her knees, "an exceedingly easy task," he swept the arm forward, catching her in the awkward hold, "memorably difficult."

"Are you just going to stand there?" she yelled at Georgia, yanking at Jack's hair.

"Never wise to dabble in the patrons' affairs. Good night, Miss," she wished them as they topped the stairs.

Jack kicked open the closest door and deposited her onto his bed. He fumbled around in the corner for a few seconds, finally producing a lit lantern. "Much better, aye?" He was disappointed to find that the illumination did nothing to improve upon her dismal visage, and he set the light on the bedside table and went to the fireplace.

"You should have left me out there," she grated, sitting up.

He held his reply until he had the fire going. "It'll do your love not a bit of good if you perish now, will it?"

"Well I'm certainly doing him no good alive as it is!"

"Settle down, Love. Settle down. Hysterical wenches do not make good for rational conversation."

"What are you going on about now?"

Jack faced her. "I'll be glad to enlighten you, just as soon as you take it upon yourself to relax and warm up." He stood and removed his soaked vest and bandana, chucking them across the room. His boots followed. "I am going to go see if this place is as dry as it looks, or if our hostess is hoarding a few spirits." He fetched his jacket from the rickety chair and draped it over her. "I shall return shortly." He marched to the door. "Do us a favor, and don't go getting any of those little ideas of yours." He left her and headed down to the lobby, where he approached the desk, sending the receptionist a dazzling grin. "Evening, M'lady. Anything stout in the vicinity?"

She fished into her dress and pulled out a flask.

Relief splashed about his eyes, and his grateful fingers took the item, raising it to drink appreciatively.

"Not that it be any of my mind," she was saying, "bu'cher lady friend there did seem quite unbendin' to join ya. Perhaps you might consider beddin' souls more taken with yeh."

Regretfully lowering the flask, he arched a brow at her implications as well as the open glances that she was sending to the rifle that rested against the desk beside her. Hold up here a moment. Here he was, saving a damsel in distress with an apparent death wish, and he was being warned against impure intentions? 'Women…' And to think, he had earlier gotten the distinct impression that the two were at odds of sort. "Seemed to me that you could have been less concerned when I had my hands full with her."

"Not much for causing scenes. Besides, needs to be shown her place 'round here, she does, but I've no intention of letting yeh have yer way with'er in my inn."

"The thought never crossed my mind. I assure you; the lady's honor shan't be impugned by the likes of me."

"See that it'sn't." She softened. "At least, not while there's much more agreeable comp'ny in the 'ouse."

He only nodded, taking a swig of the lovely brew. He pointed to a nearby steaming flagon. "What's in there?"

"Apple cider: m' own speci'l blend."

"May I?"

"Have all ya like. There's plenty more."

He took a sip. 'Perfect.' He swallowed a bit more rum, then emptied nearly half of it into the cider. "Many thanks, Carolina."

Her eyes flashed, but she didn't correct him.

"Had you there, Miss Georgia. Perhaps this will serve to calm the lady," he said, taking the mug.

"Wait." She disappeared into the back room momentarily, then returned offering a simple and faded amber dress. "Dreadful cold 'ere 't night. She might like a change."

"I knew I liked you. Do have a pleasant evening." He turned.

"I'll be expecting that back come morning," she called behind him.

Again, he ascended the stairs, hesitating only for a moment before going inside.

She stood at the window, humming something soft and hymnal, her fingertips moving over the discolored glass, tracing the rivulets outside. Her tune ceased when he closed the door, and he searched for something that might fill the void.

Instead, she was the one to break the silence. "'…the flight of a lone sparrow through the banqueting-hall—inside, there is a comforting fire to warm the room; outside, the storms of rain are raging. While he is inside, he is safe from the storms, but…'" she stopped.

He continued for her, "'But after a few moments of comfort, he vanishes from sight into the darkness whence he came.'"

Abruptly, she faced him. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Have we not already been through this? I won't have you catching pneumonia on my watch."

"Don't. Don't do that. That is not what I meant, and you know it."

He strode across the room. "Why have I brought you along? Drink this," he pressed the mug into her hands and sent the dress to the empty bed, then went over to watch the fire, leaning on the mantle. "Believe me when I say that I have asked myself that very question no less than a hundred times daily since you've boarded my ship, and a variety of responses have been formulated. None were satisfactory." He whipped around. "The truth is, I don't really know, myself. Perhaps it was because I felt I owed you something. You were a friend, after all, or, at the least, an acquaintance who didn't wish my death…until recently."

"I wouldn't have let you swing, you know. I would have come to my senses."

"One can hope, but we'll never know that for sure, now will we? You blamed Will's departure on me. Do you have a real reason as to why?"

She looked down and shook her head slowly. "Jack Sparrow, the pirate captain. What's another black mark on his record?"

"Aye. You know well, then, that logic does not always fuel our decisions. To answer your question, it seemed the right course of action at the moment. I imagine that is how Will Turner felt when he left you behind in Port Royal." He saw pain enveloping her again. "If he did, in fact, die, he died freely, doing whatever he wanted or thought was necessary."

She looked up. "'If'?"

"When a pirate needs or wants to disappear, he comes here, to Fort Brine. Pay a couple of men an outrageous sum, and 'you're' in Hades by nightfall, without the inconvenience or hindrance of Death."

"Will's alive?"

"Highly probable."

"Well why didn't you tell me that sooner!"

She was mad again. "Had you not been tearing away at the consecrated plot, I would have been happy to do so, but as the situation lent, telling you right then and there was rather inopportune."

She made a sound of rage and drank some of the cider.

"That, by the way," he indicated the dress, "is for you, from Georgia. She wants it back, though. Get changed, will you? I'm going to go get us some food."

**-------------**

"Gentry? In these parts?"

"Smells like a marooner to me."

It smelled like olives. 'What do olives have to do with marooners?' Weatherby wondered, slowly pulling through the haze that had engulfed him.

"He's waking up."

"His effects?"

"No weapons, Sir."

Swann was laid out on either a very hard cot or some sort of bench, and he could make out two voices. Perhaps seabees? He struggled to open his eyes.

"Ahoy there, Mate! Took a nasty lil' spill off the pier. Had to have Mr. Pudget here fish you out."

The weary Governor swiveled to find a hand in his face. He tentatively took it, shaking it before the man who he presumed to be Pudget (as he was dripping water) helped him sit. "Your…aid, Mr. Pudget, is greatly appreciated."

He nodded.

Weatherby looked around. Five gents, plus himself. They were in a cramped room, and, as thought, he was on a long bench. At the front sat a makeshift throne. A few other pieces of raggedy furniture lined the walls, which were smattered with portholes, and everything had a decent, or rather indecent, accrual of dust. The question was, what was he doing here? He strained to remember what had happened.

He was in Tortuga—he and Francis had succeeded in escaping. He had gone to a few taverns, then, finally given up and made his way to the docks, but he had been attacked before locating the _Dauntless_. A cutthroat had taken his change purse and stabbed him. He gulped. 'One of these cutthroats, perhaps?'

"Patched you up, too."

He almost sighed in relief. 'Seemingly not.' "Thank you," and he continued taking in his surroundings.

The speaker's head blocked his line of vision. "Admiring the atmosphere, I see." He sniffed grandly. "A certain ambience to the old girl."

"Yes…thank you very much, gentlemen, but I'm afraid I really must be getting back to land." He started to get up, but slumped, returning to the bench, clutching his side.

"Easy there. No rush. We won't be pulling out until morning. Now what's a gentleman like yourself doing in Tortuga?"

Weatherby eyed his own disheveled wig and attire. "In search of an old acquaintance."

"'S that so? Lot of that going around these days. Anyone we might know?"

He hesitated. "I'm looking for a pirate who calls himself Jack Sparrow."

"Are you now? This have anythin' to do with Will Turner?" He threw his head back and laughed at the Governor's astonished face. "Welcome aboard the _Miseria Cantada_. I'm Captain Nathaniel Curry see, told you he wasn't who you thought; hums innocently, and these blissful scabs serve as my crew."

"Captain, do you know where I might find Turner or Sparrow?"

"Aye, I do. And we'll take you to him. For a price."

**-------------**

A fleeting moan. It numbered eleven and a half.

Just how many more of those was he to suffer through this night? For what must have been the thousandth time since the commencement of the voyage, he pleaded with the Heavens.

Again, he resigned high hopes of Divine Intervention on his part. Apparently, he had angered some deity or another at a given point in his lifetime. Perhaps he would have more luck with the Nether Realm.

A couple of hours ago, he had returned with the food, but she had been fast asleep upon his bed, still in her drenched clothes. Looked awfully lonely; cold too. And Jack, being the giving soul that he was, had decided to keep her company.

The woman really was a plight upon him. Were it not for her, his _Pearl_ would have never crossed the Dead Ship, nor would her planks have been blistered, and he would not have received his newest of injuries. Were it not for her, he would likely be in Tortuga right now, velvetly conniving his way out of paying for the night's pleasurable company.

'Pleasurable company…'

He brushed a few stray, length-challenged curls from Elizabeth's face. She donned an uncharacteristically placid expression, her brow only furrowing every so often in what must have been sorrow or worry or, more likely than not, anger.

'…if only.'

If he went right now, he could search out that innkeeper and partake in everything that she had been offering. He would need only a quarter-hour.

Another contented sigh, and Elizabeth readjusted herself to a miniscule degree atop his chest, a hand claiming one of his shoulders.

'Make it a half,' his mind calculated. She'd never even know he was gone—not that it would actually matter to her, but after such a distressing night, should she really be left alone?

Dangerously on the borderline of putting nefarious contemplations into action, he almost welcomed the distraction of the shot that resounded from the general direction of the lobby. It was followed by a scream and the tussle of a forced entry.

Two more shots, and a muffled voice spoke. "Be sterile…girl…"

A very sonorous female reply came, "Go ta Hell, yeh filthy swine!"

Jack Sparrow knew the sound of a hand striking a cheek better than any man, or woman as was the current victim. It was accented by another shot.

"Don't dare lay another 'oof on me! Next time, I won't miss. I said 'there be no _Sparrow_ 'ere.' Now out with all _three_ of ya!"

'Where be Captain Sparrow of the _Black Pearl_?' He had to admire the girl's spunk, but living in Fort Brine probably left little other alternative. Never one to let a warning go unheeded—the keeper was, after all, out-manned and out-gunned, he whispered, "Torture's over, Love. You must take your leave of Elysian."

An irksomely soft sound vibrated in her throat.

"No time for that." He gave her a slight shake, insisting, "Wake up!"

The lady snagged to life, instantly alerting to another presence in the bed. Her fist jerked, clipping his jaw, and his hand, which had effectively covered her mouth, swallowed up her scream.

"Enough of that." He exercised some minimal force in an attempt to still her.

Hearing his voice, she calmed. "Diah?"

"Of course it's me."

"Cuh hut katana day nah teg?" Anyone ever notice that when you speak with a hand over your mouth, the sound that comes out is NOT 'mmmphrmmhn'?

Was she ever not presumptuously insolent? "Actually, this is my bed, if you'll recall, and I do implore that you keep your voice down. There're unwelcome guests in the house. We must depart."

Awareness of where she was sank in fully. "Guucah mmfrensaa tee?"

"Perfectly. Not my first time, you know," he waved his free hand matter-of-factly.

She rolled her eyes and liberated herself from his grasp. "Your never-ending wit is astounding, Captain," she muttered, pushing herself up, then gasped when yet another shot echoed through the inn. Her eyes widened, and she looked down, awaiting instructions.

"You can start," he informed her, "by getting off me."

She scowled, a fed-up groan escaping as she snatched her palms away from his clothed chest, whereupon they had propped themselves, and rose.

He harmonized and led her to the window. "Ladies first," he invited after opening it.

She folded her arms. "Thou shall not tempt a lady so soon after her wake. I conjure you'd make an interesting dent in the terrain."

"My, my, aren't we grumpy." He leaned out over the pane and inspected the drop for a second, then retracted himself. "I'll swing you down until you reach the doorframe, then you'll jump."

"Why don't we reverse positions?"

"Really, Miss Swann, I do find your impractical side mildly appealing and would be only delighted to entertain your fancy, were time and vitality not the pressing matters, but as they are, you shall have to be sated with my declaration and make haste."

What did he mean 'mildly appealing'? He angled her back a step, and she struggled to catch herself in the sill before she fell, climbing out partially. "Jack, I don't think—"

"Yes, that I know all too well. And as much as I would adore setting you straight on your many grievances and discussing a solution, I'm afraid that, too, will have to wait. Now," he made a swooping motion, "get thee hence, Elizabeth!"

Annoyed, she slowly began a trek downward, feeling the way with her feet, as Jack lowered her by the wrists. "I forgot my shoes," she realized.

"We'll come back for them," he promised.

"And my bag."

"Not exactly an opportune moment for chit chat."

She shook her head. He chose the oddest moments to turn serious. Looking down, she saw that her foot was nowhere close to the frame. "Swing me over," she ordered.

He imitated her, "'Swing me over,' oh brawny Captain of mine. I know that my almost nonexistent weight—if one can even designate it that—presents no obstacle for a fortified bloke such as yourself."

She glared up at him. "I do not sound like that, and I'm not that heavy either! You just spend too much time coddling _Pearl_."

"Hold your concentration, and your tongue. It's not wise to insult a man's ship when he's control over your welfare."

She found the frame. "Alright," she called, once stable.

He let her hands slip gradually, making sure that she had her footing.

She huddled against the wall for a few moments, then leapt to the ground, crashing, without a semblance of grace, on her rear. Low laughter carried to her, and she stood, dusting herself off.

In the room, Jack grabbed his effects, save the coat and hat, before jumping out the window, landing on his feet.

Her eyes swirled again at the marvel, and he grinned, taking her hand and dragging her southward.

An explosion of dirt greeted them just as they were about to round the corner, and they halted.

"Now, now, where we off t' in such an 'urry?" a gruff voice asked from behind.

Jack turned, and Elizabeth followed suit a moment later. There were three of them. Big men—big pirates. And by their look, they could have easily been part of Barbossa's gang.

"Well snatch my brain and call me Ramses. If it innit Cap'n Jack Sparra'," the shortest said.

"An' 'e's jus' th' man we come up t' see."

"'S proved uh prof'table night 'ndeed," the first gave. "S' now, _Captain_, who's yer shada' thar?" He came closer to inspect Elizabeth and sniffed. "Na' she be a fallow tart if I e'er seen un, and I seen plenty," he finished darkly, dragging a rough hand over her cheek.

She grabbed his arm and plucked him from her, nails biting into his flesh.

"Foolish harlot!" He reared back, and Elizabeth braced against the attack, but it never came.

She opened her eyes to see a cutlass before her, the blade flattened to the man's limb, preventing forward movement.

Jack imposed himself between them, ushering his sword into its scabbard. "The strumpet isn't with me. I was merely showing her to the waterfront, and if she knows what's good for her, she'll continue her way there while we all go see what business you have for me."

"Jack, I—"

He swung around. "Wanton wench, I told you already that I'm not interested in what you're offering. Surely there is a weary sailor at the pier who might wish to partake."

"But Jack—look out!" she said belatedly as the short pirate cracked him over the head with the butt of a pistol. His limp form withered to the ground.

"Will ye be comin' 'long peacefully or d' we hafta shu'chew up 's well?"

She cleared her throat, and he raised the weapon again. "The former," she rushed quickly. That had looked painful. Terribly so.

Two lifted Jack, and the apparent leader of the parade started out. She followed behind him, wondering what her fate was to be. She had thought they would be making for the wharf, but instead, they were heading in the opposite direction. As they proceeded, the land became more and more bleak and rugged. Things did not look hopeful. A glance back at Jack told her that he was blissfully snoozing away. She would have to remember to maim him for being so easily doused.

They hiked, for what must have been the better part of an hour, until they came out to a huge cliff. Her eyes widened. 'Now is the opportune moment, Jack. Get up, you oaf!'

They went to the edge, but instead of stopping, they continued across a rope bridge. It grew worse, as she caught sight of an extraordinarily high and steep plateau and nearly tripped.

"Wa'cher step," one of the men carrying Jack sneered. She gulped and went on, stepping timidly onto the rock. On the bright side, when she looked down, she saw no jagged edges smiling up at her. That spark of relief was swiftly dashed when they threw her unconscious captain onto the land and shackled an iron ball to one of his ankles.

He started to come round, and they slapped him into consciousness, jerking him forward to clap chains on his wrists. He blinked a few times, searching out Elizabeth.

"What about 'er?"

"Captain Sparra'll just hafta share with 'is unexpect'd guest. We're outta irons, but we can't 'ave 'er gettin' free, so lash 'er witthe' riggin's we brough' fer the good ol' Cap'n."

The other two grinned and moved to Elizabeth, yanking her arms behind her and binding her wrists together with rope. They also bound her ankles.

Jack was hoisted up and taken to stand at her back, his chained arms secured around her.

"Not bad, if I d' say so meself. Our Liege will be pleas'd."

"And who might that be?" the groggy Jack inquired, pressing himself closer to the woman's form.

"Yeh'll find out soon enough, if ye live, that is, Captain."

Elizabeth felt something hard poking into the small of her back and made the oddest face. 'What is he doing?'

"So you're just going to push us into the bay. That's it?" He sounded disappointed as he wiggled again. "Rather unoriginal, don't you agree, Darling?"

"What?" she asked foggily. Leave it to Jack Sparrow to spend his last moments making lustful insinuations to a damsel. She refused to go out of this world blushing.

"Do you not find this particular sentencing quite dull? Filleting us with a rusty dagger. Now _that_ would be a show, aye, Love?"

"Filleted with a…a dagger…" 'A dagger; of course!' That was what he was trying to tell her. He had a dagger in his sash. Her hands groped for the tool.

He moved a bit more, trying to guide her. "Bit messy for the wench, is it? Would you prefer to be beheaded, your body left to the sharks?"

Her hands traveled to the other side of his waist, coming upon the weapon. She clutched it almost gleefully. "I was always partial to mummification myself."

"My kind of lady," he rumbled lightly.

The leader sighed, "Enough of this! Shut them up." They were gagged. "Now, off with ye, Cap'n. Give m' regards t' Pluto," he said before pushing the pair over the ledge.

The drop was a long, eerily silent one, and Jack held onto her as tightly as possible, his free leg wrapping around her calves. The whole time, she was furiously working at the restrains of her hands, and they plunged into the chilly depths, a good supply of air evading their lungs as they impacted with the surface.

Elizabeth heard Jack's voice in her head, telling her to remain calm, as they sank to the bottom. And she was calm. She was sure they would prevail, that the great Captain Jack Sparrow and Elizabeth Swann were not yet done for…

Until the blade was dislodged from her fingers.

Everything stopped.

* * *

Original Content: 2003.10.07 


	6. Gratuitous Depredations

Disclaimer: Any names dropped here and found in the movie aren't mine, and anyone who claims otherwise owes me a lot of money.

Notes:  
This fic is currently being re-drafted, and the new chapters cannot be posted here until I've revised all of them. For the latest redone chapter, visit my profile, where you'll find a link. Feedback is still highly appreciated.

Also, please note that some author comments are embedded in the text since the brackets were taken out by TPB.

* * *

**Forty-Six & 2, Chapter Six - Gratuitous Depredations**  
_unwarranted or undesirable acts of thievery_

She had to get to Will. Elizabeth had to get out of this mess and find Will, no matter what.

Faintly, she heard, _"Young Mr. Turner will be dead long before you can reach him."_

Was that true, or was Will already dead? Years ago, Jack had said those words to her, and he had been proved wrong. This time, he had seemed far more optimistic, and it appeared that now his tidings might prove true, if only to spite their maker.

Her father and the Commodore had encouraged, however moderately, that she give up on Will after he'd left her. Twice, since his return and great plan, Sparrow had been the one to deliver her shreds of hope back to her in well-working order.

Now, she found that she wanted to return that favor, pull him from this rather hopeless situation, but the Fates, seemingly, were not on her side. Or perhaps she was just out to foil the task inadvertently by foolishly losing her grip on the dagger as they hit the bottom. Whatever the reason, things did not look good for the uncanny duo.

_"So that's it then? That's the secret grand adventure of the infamous Jack Sparrow?"_

Even through the impediments of gag and water, she worried her lips, wriggling around. She felt Jack loosen his tight grasp and drop his leg. She tried to shimmy downwards, but it was proving quite the difficult task. She tilted her head backwards and to the side, searching for him. Their eyes clashed, her panic evident.

She recalled the last time she'd been in a highly similar position.

_"Miss Swann, if you'd be so kind."_

She blinked, fire kindling over her lungs. Damned, but she wanted to oblige him this time.

Apparently, he caught her drift, his eyes squinting momentarily before he pulled her back against him. His arms and chains twisted, seeking something out, and in the dim light, she was able to decipher the outline of his cutlass as it left its scabbard.

Her eyes actually brightened, and she writhed, managing to turn enough so that he could angle the blade at her binds.

Her wrists jumped away from each other like repelling magnets when the last thread was cut, and she would have sighed in relief, could she have. Instead, she pushed her way from his arms and hit the seafloor softly, knocking some sand out of place. She groped for the dagger, which had landed close to Jack's feet, and went to work on the ropes at her ankles. Above her head, Jack's movements were conveyed by the water, as he was diligently trying to free himself as well. She caught sight of the iron ball and shuddered, considering herself lucky not to have such a burden.

Finishing, she ripped off her gag and stood, legs grateful, lungs insistent, and water insubordinate. Jack had found his solution, and she looked on, fighting the bay as he took aim at the chain on his ankle with his pistol. He pulled the trigger.

And nothing happened.

He dropped the hammer back into place, then tripped it again, pulling the trigger.

Again, nothing. Repeat.

_"Welcome to the Caribbean, Love."_

**· § ·**

"My Lord. Your Grace, we have taken that which you requested." He set a small pouch on the desk that his master had his back to.

"How long?"

"Hours ago, but as for the other business, it has been but a few minutes."

"Did you tell him anything?"

"No, Sir. Only mentioned our Liege, as you instructed."

"Good." The speaker turned to face the man who stood in the doorway. "Be ready to set sails as soon as we have word of his escape. We must be on our way."

"Certainly, Sir." He hesitated. "If I may, Sir. Something has come up."

"Yes, Garren? What is it?"

He gulped. "The Captain, Sir. He had with him…a woman."

"A woman? Now that's interesting. What did you do with her?"

"We sent her into the bay with him."

"Hm. Do you know who she is?"

"No, Sir, but she talked very proper…ly. Her speech was better than that of the Captain."

"I see. That would be the lovely Miss Swann, I suspect," he said, almost fondly, then waved a hand at the other man, "You may go, _Mei_."

Garren bowed his head and left quickly.

"Very int'resting, indeed." He looked up at a huge painting of the fair Captain. "Jack, you old cad, it has been too long." He ran his fingertips along the clumps of paint. "And so it begins…"

**· § ·**

Jack Sparrow was not a good man. He was neither gentlemanly nor kind, and for the better part of his life, he had wanted but one thing. And he had been willing to go to any extremes in order to achieve that goal.

_The ends justify the means._

But as he watched the wisp of a woman before him, struggling against the water to stay close, awaiting his next plan of action, he relaxed grimly. Will Turner had called him a good man. Damn the whelp: alive or dead.

He holstered his gun and made several upwards motions with his hands.

She took him in for a few seconds, no doubt a look of disbelief crossing her as she shook her head indignantly.

_"To what point and purpose, young Missy?"_

Ignoring his surroundings momentarily, he attempted to growl, succeeding only in sending several gushing bubbles to the brink. She had swum closer, and he pushed her away with his chained hands.

Damn, but she was stubborn.

He hung his head and moved his hands around in search, trying to look as though he actually did have a plan. He looked up to see if he'd gotten through to her and came face to barrel with the wrong end of a very familiar smallarm.

_"There'll be no living with her after this."_

She was closer and grinning smugly as she readjusted her aim to the chain at his ankle, holding the pistol he had allowed her in her hands. She reeled back the dog-head and eased both index fingers over the trigger, shutting her eyes.

Whoa, not good. His hands shot out, and he grabbed her upper arms, shaking her until she looked at him. He widened his eyes several times to ensure that she got the point and held her in place as she again fixed the barrel on his chain.

She fired, and they were both rewarded by the discharge that flung them apart, as the shot hit home, busting open a link.

Shaking his head to recover his bearings, Jack reached down and dislodged the broken link, indicating for Elizabeth to follow him to the surface as he kicked off the floor.

They broke through the water, fighting for air.

After a few minutes, Jack discarded his gag. "Right. Well, I suppose it's never a bad time for a brisk swim. Shall we?"

She drew in another shaky breath and nodded, making way for the nearest plot of land, which was beneath the cliffs that they had crossed over recently with their escorts.

After a few peaceful moments of rest ashore, he broke their reverie, "Do you suppose the inn mistress will think we've skipped out on the bill?" he asked lightly, stretching his legs out before him and leaning back on his elbows.

She sat on her knees, watching him with awe, and ignored the question. "Jack…you saved me. Again."

_"I saved your life; you saved mine. We're square."_

"Likewise, M'lady."

Without warning, she thrust herself at him, hugging him tightly. "Thank you," she murmured. She pulled back, him sitting up with her, and she looked down at his hands, which were still chained and held in an apologetic fashion, him being unable to return the favor. Then, she sobered, and deftly, her hand struck his cheek.

His palm petted the expert mark she'd made. "I did not deserve that!"

She reared. "The Hell you didn't! Those men were after you. I was bound and gagged and thrown to the bottom of the bay with little more than dead weight wrapped around me."

"I didn't hear any protests at the time."

"I wasn't given any choice or word in the matter!"

"I won't be blamed for something that I had no control over—you." He pointed. "I tried to get you to playact the role of an evening mistress and go about your business, but your mouth," his hand opened and closed a few times, "wouldn't have it. As I've said before, it'll be your undoing yet. I know it's difficult for you, but there are certain instances in which one must hold her tongue, even a Governor's daughter."

She averted her gaze, glaring, for a moment, at the quiet bay instead of him. "Where do we go now?" she asked finally.

He took in the rising sun, and then said, "You're right." She turned at this, an eyebrow raised. "They were after me. They would have searched the _Pearl_ before coming ashore." He stood and offered his hands.

She looked at them for a second before pushing herself upright and slapping him again.

He recovered, moving his jaw around. "What was that for?"

"I am no wanton wench, and you'll do well to remember it, Captain Sparrow!" She spun on her bare heel and marched towards the nearest ledge.

He slanted his head, taking in her wet, retreating form. 'Well, I'll give her that.'

_"The scenery has definitely improved."_

**· § ·**

Joshamee Gibbs yawned as he trudged down the dock, shrugging into his jacket. It was warmer this morning, the storm having finally ebbed, though still crisp, as was common in these parts. He shook his head. He had gone to retrieve the Captain but had found hide nor hair of him or the lady. That meant he was late, which was never good because Jack always cut his rum rations when he was late.

"Gibbs!"

Joshamee squinted, seeing Duncan jump up and down in one of the rowboats that they had brought ashore.

"Gibbs, hurry!"

Understandably a mite confused, he hastened his step, reaching the pier's edge. He climbed down into the boat. "What's got ya in such a frenzy there, Duncan?"

The younger sailor shook his head, putting the oars into action. "Sumthin' terr'ble's happened. They sent me get the Cap'n, but ye'll do until we find 'im."

"Jack isn't aboard?"

"Nay. Only crew s'far as I know."

They continued in silence, Gibbs wondering exactly where his Captain might have gotten to and whether or not Miss Elizabeth was with him. He was beginning to think something along the lines of a romantic interlude, the missy finally getting to Jack, when Duncan nearly lost an oar. He grabbed the thing quickly, preparing to chastise the youth when he saw what had distracted him.

"Holy Mary," he breathed.

**· § ·**

"And I'd like to know how it was that you ended up in my bed, Mr. Sparrow," Elizabeth proclaimed loudly, pacing back and forth along the edge of the cliff, waiting.

Jack grunted as he pulled himself up to the next ledge. "It was my bed. The one I paid for, _Miss_ Swann."

"You were paying for both, and you still have yet to pay at all."

He moved his head from side to side for a bit. "Nevertheless," he finally called, "that was my bed that you made yourself comfortable in. And need I remind you," he jumped, his hands gripping the top of the cliff, "that due to your obvious lack in judgment, I was forced to make sure that you didn't put us in anymore sticky situations? I mean, what would have happened to you," he grunted again, trying to find his footing, "if I hadn't come along when I did?" He struggled to pull himself onto the cliff. "A little help, if you don't mind."

She groaned and grumbled that she did mind, but grabbed his chain and half-lugged him onto the ground, all the same.

He ended up in a heap at her feet where he rolled over, searching his upside-down view of her for her eyes. "What do you expect you would have done if left there to dig up the grave of your lover?"

She sighed, hands on hips, and looked away. Her gaze caught the high rise that had nearly led her to her death. "It doesn't really matter, now does it." Hah. That almost sounded like one of Jack's ambiguous replies. But she knew it did matter, to her at least. It had been a moment of sheer desperation, and she didn't like reflecting on that fact one bit.

He watched her for a few seconds, and she thought he might attempt to negate her claim, but he only bobbed his head in acceptance and got to his feet. He took in their surroundings for a moment, then nodded towards a patch of trees. "This way, then."

"But we came up from the south."

"Aye, but I know a shortcut back around. Should cut our time in half," he said, starting off.

A shortcut. She should have expected as much (or as little) from Captain Sparrow. Shaking her head, she followed him. Of course, she had to admit, her feet had not enjoyed the walk earlier. She had never before realized how much she took something like a pair of shoes for granted. Once they got back to the hostelry, she wouldn't be taking them off for quite some time.

But they weren't going to the inn right now, were they? Jack was worried about the _Black Pearl_. He hadn't expressed this aloud. It was more his sudden distance that had tipped her off. And his worry made her worry. What if they had burned the ship? And what of Mr. Cotton? He was set to guard it the previous night in her stead. Jack had bribed the old man with her cherub earrings.

_"Those were from my father, you know,"_ she had told him after he had informed her of what he'd done.

_"All the more reason for him to treasure them."_

She had snorted. _"Until he hocks them."_

She smiled at the memory, knowing that Jack was probably right about that as well. He had likely told Cotton that they were a gift.

"Keep to the rocks," he ordered as they came into a marshy area.

She lifted up her breeches and hopped along the larger stones that were embedded in the murk. A rather disgusting smell wafted its way up to her nostrils. Just lovely. As if it weren't bad enough that there had been an attempt made on her life due solely to the poor company that she kept, now, she was going to stink as well. This was not shaping up to be a good day.

In fact, it got worse when she slipped, one ankle finding its way into the marsh. She let out a small cry. The sensation was beyond deplorable.

Jack's head popped into her line of vision. "I have but one question. Did you do it just to spite me?"

Her brows furrowed. Well, at least she wasn't the only one suffering. Misery did love company. "Sorry," she muttered, and grabbed onto his shoulder, righting herself. Not wanting to be subject to his wit-laced reprimands, she turned and continued swiftly across the bog, only stopping when she was on the other side, ready to let him resume leading the way.

He traipsed up to her, eyes glinting crookedly as he paused in passing. He glanced down for a second. "Unless you're fretting for infection, I suggest you do something about the little pets you picked up back there." He held her gaze fully again. "And Miss Swann, no more interruptions." With that, he went about his way.

Elizabeth clenched her eyes shut momentarily, dreading the worst. With a swallow, she looked down and, biting the insides of her cheeks, picked up her muddy foot and relieved it of the two plump leeches that must have had some sort of premonition of her trifle. She flung them away and, shuddering in good measure, left them behind.

The rest of their trek to the southern wharf of the island was made in silence.

They noticed the lack of their rowboats at the dock.

"The men must have gotten a late start," Jack decided after a minute or two of scratching his head. "We'll just have to borrow someone else's."

She sent him a flat stare. "You mean steal someone else's."

He grinned. "Commandeer. But, if the lady insists…" He started off, but then turned to face her. "Of course, you're more than welcome to go settle up with the innkeeper, if you've had a bit too much seawater for the day."

It sounded like he was only half-joking. She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head, walking over to him. "Not a chance, Captain." She patted his shoulder. "The mistress is all yours." She headed for the nearest unguarded boat, smirking when she felt him get in behind her. Her smugness faltered when he brought the handles of two oars around her front.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be propelling us this morn, as I find myself a bit…disinclined." His chain was brushing over her back. "Besides, you are my subordinate."

She took the paddles and waited while he moved around so that he sat before her.

He lounged back and made a motion with his hands. "Stroke, Love."

Oh, she'd stroke all right. She began to row, resisting the urge to glare at him. It would only broaden his grin. This was exceedingly more complicated with two people. He could stand to lose some pounds himself. How did he come by all that food anyway? Compared to what sailors were rumored to survive off of, she had practically been preparing feasts for him and the crew.

She paddled harder. If she could get him to swing his head to the side, she could just swipe his ear with an oar. Or maybe, when he stood up, she could 'accidentally' knock him overboard. The water was pretty nasty looking, not that he would mind.

She was trying to choose her method of torture when she saw his face suddenly fall, and he stood up, rocking the boat and shielding his eyes from the morning sun; effectively, he had taken the decision out of her hands. She was about to put her plan into action when he let out a soft, "Christ."

"What is it?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Faster."

Fear gripping her, she obliged to his request, sniffing the air for smoke.

"Jack, where've ye been? We've scoured the coast in search of yeh." It was Mr. Gibbs. She almost sighed in relief. "Is 'at Miss Elizabeth?"

"Aye, Gibbs, it's her. We've been down by the bay."

"Didn't think you'd go that far inland, Sir, or we might've found ya sooner."

The little boat bumped against the _Black Pearl_'s port side, and Elizabeth retracted the oars.

Jack was already making his way up the side of the ship, and she followed suit, concern still nagging at her. Something wasn't right. As she set foot on the main deck, her sinking suspicion was confirmed.

Her eyes drifted shut, and she turned away from the mainmast.

"Sorry, Captain. We would have done somethin' about it sooner, but we…well, we all thought it best to await yer order."

Jack held a beat. Then, "Get him down from there."

"Aye, Sir." But no one moved.

Captain Sparrow's face tightened, and he angrily drew his pistol. The clean shot rang over the ship.

Elizabeth swung around (surprised by the fact that his weapon had chosen to start working suddenly), only to be greeted by the sight of the body sliding down the mast, its noose hissing the whole way. She felt the sting of tears but kept them at bay.

"He shall have a proper burial. See that it's done, Gibbs. We'll return to shore in half an hour." He started for his cabins.

"Captain, there's somethin' else ye should know."

He stopped but didn't turn. "Yes, Gibbs? What is it?"

"They took somethin' with them."

**· § ·**

"Jesus, yeh didn't have to shoot me!"

"You should have stopped running," Commodore Norrington muttered. "Now, where is Sparrow?"

"I told ya already. I don't know no Sparrow! I know of 'im, yes, but I never met the man. I thought 'e was a legend until yer Governor started goin' on about 'im."

"Mr. Sullivan, I am going to find Elizabeth Swann. With or without your help. Need I remind you that should you prove useless to me, I will have no other option but to have you greeting outsiders on Gallows Point? Now, what did you do with the Governor?"

"I told you everythin' I know. After I let 'im go, I don't know what 'appened to 'im." He clutched at the wound on his thigh. "Where's the doctor yeh promised?"

"He will not see you until y—"

"Commodore! Commodore, Sir!" Mullroy came running down the stairs into the hold. "Sir, this just came for you. It's from Sparrow!" He held out an envelope.

Norrington stood and took the letter, opening it. "He's ransoming Governor Swann. He wants three hundred Spanish doubloons within the week, or he'll kill Governor Swann."

**· § ·**

After knocking at least five times without eliciting a reply, Elizabeth let herself into the room quietly, closing the door behind her. A shabby curtain had been drawn over the window, mostly obliterating the bleak picture outside; the sky had grown overcast again. In its place beyond the hearth, the fire crackled. He sat just in front of it, straddling a chair, staring into that fire as though it would soon spout all of the answers that he was seeking.

They had returned to the inn only a few hours ago, Jack having freed himself from the irons on the ship. Since then, they had been resting in their separate rooms.

"I'm sorry, Jack." That sounded familiar; it was also terribly lacking, just as it had been the first time she had uttered it. She doubted that he would respond with that same slightly defeated indifference this time.

He sighed. "What do you want, Miss Swann?"

'Back to the formalities, are we, Mr. Sparrow?' After surviving the day's events and actually having time to fully process them, she had decided that she rather liked the fact that they were again on mildly good terms, using each others' given names. The ordeal was a secret just between the two of them—well, themselves and their assailants—something that bonded them in an odd way, regardless of their past discrepancies. Usually, Jack required no invitation to take such liberties.

Presently, she considered how to return his question ambiguously and settled for reiterating, "What do I want?"

The chair creaked loudly as he stood, facing her. "What is it that you want me to say so that you may go on about your quaint little life?"

She nibbled on her lip. Jack was not up for the game. This was a new development indeed. Should she worry? "Gibbs came by." She awaited a reaction, but at his prolonged blank stare, went on, "He said he didn't want to disturb you."

Actually, it was more like, _"Captain's in a bad way, Miss Elizabeth. Don't rightly know how to handle him when he takes these notions. Usually locks 'imself in his cabin for a few days, heavy on the rum. But with young Turner still missing, and now Cotton… 'E's never done anythin' like that before."_

Elizabeth had nodded. She had not expected that Jack would react like that either. If there was one thing that pirates were suspicious and mindful of, it was the dead. "They're going to hold the service at sundown." She had promised Gibbs that she would have the Captain there, in at least a partially sober condition, to preside over the ceremony.

His heavy footsteps startled her, and she looked up from her fidgeting hands to see that he was advancing. He stopped a few beats from her, and she noted the half-drained bottle that swung by its neck in his left hand.

She cleared her throat. "Are you alright, Jack?"

He gave her a hard look. "I'll ask again. What do you want from me, Elizabeth?"

Well, it was something. "I just wanted to deliver Mr. Gibbs's message. Cotton would want his Captain there." She waited for him to agree. Or at least disagree. Or grunt, even, but he remained steady, studying her as though searching for some ulterior motive. She could really do with his light-hearted remarks right about now. "And I wanted to give you this." She pulled the pistol from its place within her sash. "I cleaned it, just as you said to."

He set his bottle aside on the floor and took the weapon for a moment, appearing to examine it. Then, without warning, he turned partially, slinging it across the room where it collided with the wall and clunked against the lower molding. "I don't care about the pistol!" he practically barked, turning back to her.

She jolted away slightly; worrying might not be such an inappropriate thing at current. "Then what _do_ you care about? What is it that drives the famed Captain Jack Sparrow when he's away from his precious ship?" she countered. He gave her another dark look, and she immediately decided that that was the wrong question to pose in this instance. She glanced away for an instant and tried to calm herself with some air. Needing to break the silence, she said, "I'm sorry about Cotton. I know that it was my fault that—"

"Your fault," it came out as a quiet statement, the interrupton drawing her body taught with attention.

"Yes, I..." Searching for the words, she bowed her head and rushed on, "The _Black Pearl_ would have never docked at Fort Brine when it did if it weren't for me. It was my watch, and—" This time, she was cut off by the familiar touch of cold metal to her temple.

"You're ready to offer up your life as penance for that of a bloody pirate, is that it?" he asked, holding his pistol in place.

"If that is what's required of me, then…" she wavered momentarily, biting her lip, "God's will be done."

He chuckled. "His will be done, eh? That is what they say before carrying out an execution order. Usually the sentencing party, if I recall correctly, though it has been a while." His demeanor lighted a bit. "Do you want to die, Elizabeth?" And he almost laughed again as she actually seemed to be weighing her options.

"No," she decided slowly.

"No," he echoed, running the tip of the barrel down her jaw line. He moved it beneath her chin and urged it upwards so that her solemn gaze met his. "Then let's not go getting anymore of these…noble notions, savvy?"

She glared. He couldn't even brood without making her seethe with ill favor.

He took in her shift in spirits. Good. He could take anger any day over self-pity and defeat.

"You cannot expect to simply threaten me into submission."

"Can I not?" His thumb wrenched the hammer back. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, Darling" he cooed, drawing closer, before shifting and allowing his voice drop again. "Cotton was a good man, a good pirate, who should not have died by the hands of those sent for me in the first place. But do you really think your poor attempt at sacrifice will comfort him in the grave?"

"It should be my grave," she whispered pitifully. He lifted a brow, and her words as well as her defiant chin rose a notch, "I should have been the one on duty, but I begged you to let me come ashore."

"Ah, too true. I would have much preferred you to have been on the ship so that those pirates could not only kill one of my best men, but also rape and murder my newest crewmember who also happens to be a governor's daughter. Yes, you would have fared much better there than here, with me, in remote safety."

She drew in a sharp breath at his words, eyes widening at their frankness. She was attempting to own up to her actions for once in her life, and he was making it impossible. Why?

Desperate not to let him get the better of her in this, she spat, "You are being impractical!"

"_I_ am the one being impractical? Love, I'm not quite sure you grasp the full meaning of that word." Fire leapt up behind her eyes, and he leaned closer.

She watched as he examined her with that annoying half-lidded gaze of his, like this was some sport that required a good poker face and a quick mind. She found that she didn't like the familiarity of the situation: the cool mix of this domineering pirate and his unfeeling pistol. If not forced into this second go, she would have much preferred to have his dark eyes behind her line of vision—when had he renewed their kohl? It strengthened his intimidating look, and she was starting to regret coming to see him in the first place.

Now why had she done that again?

Oh yes. She was to deliver information. Sophocles was right; the role of Messenger was not a preferable one to fill. If it was all the same to any lingering deities, she would really rather not die at the moment.

A quick, silent prayer, and she realigned her thoughts to the matter at hand. What was that she'd called him?

Something odd crossed Jack's features, and he shifted again. "So I'm impractical, am I?"

Impractical. That was it. She slipped a glance at his steady arm. Could he really blame her for that outburst?

She quickly came to the conclusion that she had managed to get herself into quite the precarious situation. She swallowed. Again.

Watching the realization of her captivity dawn, Jack, too, came to a conclusion of his own and snaked his free hand behind her head, and he had the pleasure of seeing her eyes widen again as he lowered his, sending her an infamous smirk. Soundly, his mouth took hers captive, tasting his forbidden fruit.

Elizabeth had to fight to keep herself from gaping; her arms braced against the door in frozen panic. What was she supposed to do?

Her mind was brimming with suggestions. 'Slap him!' 'Strangle him!' 'Wallop him!' 'Exactly what does a wallop entail?'

His tongue traced over her lower lip before forcing its way into her mouth, and she felt the pressure beneath her chin relieved as he moved the pistol out of his way.

She stiffened at his silky, yet commanding enticement, her fingernails gnashing into the door. This couldn't be right. He was invading her, plundering her. He was a filthy, loathsome pirate. Not like Will at all, not like any of the other beaus of her past… Did she just moan?

Jack was rewarded in his efforts by a delicate moan, and his hand tightened in her hair as he took a step closer.

'Loathsome and filthy! Filthy and loathsome! Loathsome and tempting.' Her breath caught, and she arched against him. 'Loathsomely tempting.' She gave into temptation, her eyes slipping shut.

Things were going quite smoothly for Jack Sparrow. Right up until the point where the woman started responding, her mouth and body moving in tune with his. Now that was unexpected. Abruptly, he broke the contact, dropping his hand and retreating a bit. He inclined his head so that he could look down at her in speculation and watched curiously as her lids fluttered open, revealing the flames that still licked about; only now, they were darkened with desire.

'Very interesting.' Not a chance in Hell that he would avoid the wrath of her hand this eve.

He holstered his pistol and withdrew something from his sash. He roughly took her hand and pressed the item into her palm. "From Captain Curry. Will wanted him to deliver it."

Her only reaction was to swallow, gaze opportunely averted from his.

She would probably belt him. Seemed like he recalled her having a nice left hook. Then again… Maybe he should cut back on the rum. 'Rum…'

He backed away a bit more and knelt to lift the bottle from the floor. He took a swig and offered it to her. Then, he took another one at her slightly shaking head. "Well, it's nearing sundown. Get dressed." His hand swung to indicate the dress that still rested on the table in the corner, where he had flung it the previous night. He sauntered over to her and gripped the doorknob. "If you'll excuse me," he murmured in her ear.

She slid out of the way, and he left the room. Once in the hall with the closed door at his back, he grinned. At least something had come out of this rather unproductive day. He examined his rum.

This was not good.

Slowly, Elizabeth emancipated herself from the safety of her corner. She looked at the wooden box in her hand. Obviously, it was made of a fine wood, intricate little designs littering it. No doubt the work of her blacksmith. After a bit, she opened it. A letter. Will had written her a letter?

She took it out and read it. Sinking into the chair that Jack had recently vacated, she read it again. And again.

So, it really was her fault.

After about an hour, she finally got up and changed into the dress that Georgia had sent for her. When finished, she ran her fingers through her cropped locks, the letter again catching her eye.

She picked it up, glanced over it, and then threw it into the dying fire. She wrenched the ring from her finger, and it, too, soon followed.

Soon after, a knock on the door drew her attention from the fire.

"It grows late, M'lady."

It was Jack. She crossed the room and opened the door, letting him brush past her.

"I see you finally took my advice," he meant the change of dress. He looked around. "What have you been doing in here?"

She ignored him. "Will you take me home?"

He smiled. "I was going to suggest that I do just that. We shall be delayed here for a few days, but after that, you will be freed of your Articles and escorted back to Port Royal where you so rightfully belong...Miss Swann."

She nodded. "Thank you." She walked over to him and eyed him a second, then managed a half-hearted slap. "Do not contrive to take your liberties with me, Captain. I shall not stand for any further...gratuitous depredations on your part." And with that, she took her exit.

'Gratuitous, aye?'

He was about to follow her when something in the fire caught his eye. He reached down and pulled a scrap of paper from the embers.

…_changed…leave Port Royal…you._

Will's letter to Elizabeth? It did not resemble an assuring message. He looked up and saw something else glittering in the fireplace. He swatted at some of the ashes.

Not good at all.

* * *

Original Content: 2003.10.20 


	7. Pettish Paroxysms

Disclaimer: Any names dropped here and found in the movie aren't mine, and anyone who claims otherwise owes me a lot of money.

Notes:  
This fic is currently being re-drafted, and the new chapters cannot be posted here until I've revised all of them. For the latest redone chapter, visit my profile, where you'll find a link. Feedback is still highly appreciated.

Also, please note that some author comments are embedded in the text since the brackets were taken out by TPB.

* * *

**Forty-Six & 2, Chapter Seven - Pettish Paroxysms**  
_ill-tempered outbursts_

"Grab tha' fall fer me, will ya, Lass?"

Sending Marty a quick nod, Elizabeth seized a rope that hung only a few feet to her left and tugged hard. Two days had passed since their return to sea, and she had taken to helping out the night crew, as she had been claimed by a fresh bout of insomnia. Jack had said that they would make far better time if they could sail through both day and night, and by her rather rough estimates, they were. Likely, she would only see two more dawns aboard the _Black Pearl_.

She thought that she would be glad to see her home, to watch the _Pearl_ once again set her rudder to Port Royal. She would be with her father, who would be overjoyed by her return, and she would move on from Will, who clearly wasn't gliding about the oceans in some pitiful search for her, if, in fact, he was still alive.

Shaking her head, she breathed the sea air deeply as a breeze swung about her. Yes, it would be good to get home, but looking around the dark decks of the ship, she knew she would miss them. After Cotton's death, she had expected that the crew might shun her due to their superstitions, but their reaction was quite the opposite. They all seemed to welcome her presence, even the three or four who had joined on after the adventure years ago. She suspected that the Captain had something to do with their behaviour.

The Captain…

She had yet to see him without his trusty rum bottle since…since the night he had kissed her and she had, once again, lost her control.

She sighed as the scene replayed through her mind. Her thoughts had been betraying her more often than not in the past few days. It was down right atrocious to think of the Captain taking advantage of her, attempting to ravage her as he had. She really should have walloped him, even if she wasn't quite sure how to go about it; she had a few inventive conjectures.

If she were to be put in the situation again…

She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the image to take over, and in her mind's eye, Jack stood before her, that damnable smirk gracing his lips as his body pressed against hers. A hand in her hair, an arm around her waist, a mouth on her own, and she—

"Wou'ja mind ter'bly comin' back down ta _Pearl_ and securing that bit o' riggin'?"

She was interrupted.

Elizabeth's eyes blinked open to find the short sailor looking up at her. She gave a guilty smile and tossed him an apology before tugging again on the rope in her hand and wrapping it around the nearest post, knotting it easily.

She ran her hands through her tangled hair and wiped them over the skirt of her old olive dress before she brought them into her line of vision to inspect them. Washing dishes had done them little good; she had lost all hope of salvaging the appearance of her fingernails after the first day that she had started working in the galley. Doing actual crew work was mangling her soft palms and fingers. She supposed this was just as well, as she wouldn't have to worry about the pain of pricking herself while engrossed in future needlework for quite some time.

That thought made her freeze. Needlework was just what she would be going back to when she returned to Port Royal, to her home. After the busy days on the ship, she had been glad for the respite offered by Fort Brine, nasty as the place might be, but had grown antsy after the excitement of the first day. Perhaps having to give up on Will so suddenly after only just finding hope was taking a toll on her.

But the trail was cold, and she thought any prolonged contact with Jack Sparrow precarious, indeed.

If Will didn't want to be found, there was really nothing she could do, and after his letter…

Presently, she gulped away the tension that had mounted in her constricting throat and looked around for something to keep her busy. Her gaze settled on the helm and the man there who was illuminated by golden moonlight. For a few strained moments, she worried her lips before nodding in decision and making her way forward, towards the bow. yes, I know that forward _is_ towards the bow, but I wanted to clarify that for those who didn't; no sense getting you guys more mixed up than I already have…

Once upon the forward deck, she stood at the prow, hands settling over its starboard bulwark. All in all, it was a quiet night: clear, yet dull with its stillness. The _Pearl_ moved restlessly over the sea, her crew meandering about here and there to maintain course and sanity. The only illumination was provided by a few lanterns that swayed in tune with the ship; the half moon, which was swiftly receding to its normal size and pallor; and the innumerable stars. It was beautiful, serene, and utterly disappointing, as far as Elizabeth was concerned.

There had been a tempest during the previous night and a great fog the eve before. Nature had provided her enough distractions to occupy her mind, enough to allow plaguing and mocking thoughts to recess in the pools of Oblivion.

But tonight, it was she who was lost, not being able concern herself with practical, trivial matters, thereby forwarding all mental pains to Lethe. Mere moments passed before Will Turner was again center stage in her mind.

He had told her that he had loved her since setting eyes upon her. Was he merely than a liar? Had all their time together been nothing more than false glances, false kisses, false caresses…?

If the words of his letter were true (and she had no reason to believe them to be otherwise so), then it must have been.

_I must leave Port Royal with the hope that you might someday forgive me._

And gladly would she forgive him now, if only she could find him. Initially, shock, anger, pain, and shame had taken over her being, but now things were different.

Still, it seemed the question was whether or not _he_ could forgive her.

…_after what happened, I feel, I know that this is the best course for us both, Elizabeth._

Again, the words of his letter played through her mind, and she shook her head as her eyes became misty and blinked away another round of tears. In doing so, she caught sight of something on the figurehead. Leaning out farther, she made to examine the odd object and set a knee on the rail. In the very dim light, she was able to make out the shape of a feather and her right forefingers deftly plucked it from the figurehead. Retracting her hand, she tried to get a better look at it, stroking the forlorn thing. The smattering of blood at one of its tips did not go unnoticed.

She swallowed as she now fought against an onslaught of bile, and made to return fully to the deck, but as she did, something else about the figurehead seized her attention. Putting her other knee onto the bulwark, she maneuvered herself closer, managing press against the carved herald, its sought-after features being just out of view. Her searching fingers drifted over the feminine form, dipping into the empty crevice that had taunted her.

"Bloody savages knew what they were doin'."

Her body jumped slightly at the unexpected statement, and she turned to face the speaker.

"Best come away from there, Lass. Capt'n's still a shade from a state t' be reckoned wi'. 'is suspicions'll do ye nary a bit of good."

She nodded slowly and took the hand that Mr. Gibbs offered, leaving the figurehead behind and allowing her feet to find their way back onto the solid deck. Once settled, she said, "I thought you told Jack that the bird had flown away."

He shook his head slowly, looking down. "He needn't know th' frightful details. 'Ad Tearlach remove 't from the Lady's 'ead. Bastards stuck 'im to 'er with a dagger." He glanced back up. "Apologies, Miss Elizabeth." When she waved off the unnecessary consideration of her presence in light of the oath, he continued, "Rested 'im at Cotton's feet." He took a swig from his flask. "Found the black pearl not the _Black Pearl_; the black pearl that actually serves as one of the figurehead's eyes, incase you missed it… was missin' after the bird was taken care of. That, we had t' tell Jack."

Her head tilted slightly. "He plans to go after them."

He nodded curtly. "Once yer safe where ya belong and we r'plenish the _Pearl_'s fittin's, no doubt. Someone must be wantin' ta have a showdown with 'im some'n terrible."

"Revenge," she realized.

"Aye."

"But wh—" She was cut off by the call of an opulently word abuse is not illegal…I hope resounding horn.

A small vessel, indeed smaller than Captain Curry's sloop, barely worthy of being called a ship, in her eyes, was approaching from the southeast.

With less light illuminating her decks than that on the _Pearl_, Elizabeth was scarcely capable of making out a few dark forms moving about and muffled orders being throw to and fro in the darkness.

On the deck below her, crewmen jumped to life and made ready for what was assumed a friendly ship. Gibbs waved for Elizabeth to follow him down onto the maindeck as he began issuing a few orders, himself.

She cleared her throat and quickly found herself repeating what Mr. Gibbs called as she scurried to assist in lowering the anchors.

**· § ·**

"Sire, if you do not mind I would like to pose, how can you be sure that Captain Sparrow will come?" Garren asked as he followed his master through dry foliage. He thought it odd that half of the island looked to have been decimated by some great fire, but was not about to question his Lord's choice for docking.

The man before him stopped in his tracks, and a small smile passed across his lips as he slightly angled his head towards the ground, eyes slanting. "_Ferratus_, Sparrow will sacrifice his life for his _Pearl_, for his name. Of that, you can always be sure." He faced his underling completely. "You will go meet the good Captain. He's sure to turn about soon. When you take him, you'll administer the test."

Garren nodded. "And you, my Lord? Will you not be coming with us?"

He glanced at his surroundings, a whisper of reverence passing over his features. "I will remain here until your return." His gaze pinned the other. "Now be on your way. I've a feeling there will be…minor complications. Best be prepared."

He gave a slight bow. "Certainly." He started to go.

"No further harm is to come to the _Black Pearl_ or her crew. Is that understood?"

"Of course, Sir. And what of the mistress?"

The face tightened for a brief instant. "His mistress," he repeated thoughtfully. "I have been waiting…her presence might serve for most interesting," he paused momentarily, seemingly to search for the proper word, and he smiled again slowly, "sport. Yes, you will bring the lovely lady along as well, _Mei_."

**· § ·**

Jack Sparrow delighted in having his way with women. He had lucked out, acquiring those rugged good looks that the ladies—well, perhaps not ladies in the technical sense—strumpets were far more likely. The strumpets adored him, and he had quite an extensive record in the wooing department.

Unfortunately, he had finally come to realize, he didn't have nearly as much luck with women outside of the bedroom. This led to him being on the receiving end of numerous verbal and physical attacks from those women (including the ladies), bedded or otherwise acquainted.

At current, it was one of the few unbedded women in his life who had flung her hand at him in a thorough attempt to knock his head off its hinges.

The pirate captain shook aforementioned head slightly, attempting to rid his ears of the droning bees that were now swarming in his addled mind. He pursed his lips in a semi-drunken fashion and swallowed before speaking. "Anamaria, Love," he held a beat to see if the furious woman standing before him would again send him reeling, but as she didn't poise for a post-strike, continued, "to what do I owe this…this unadulterated pleasure?"

"You stole my ship, Sparrow!" I have studied Ana's grammar, the bit available, and am going to try to portray her as I've seen in the flick, rather than from fanfic speculations.

"Yes. Yes, that I do recall, though it is rather sometime in the past now, and I also recall making good on my oath by getting you one from Barbados some three years back." He observed her for a minute, glancing up at the ship that she had just hailed the _Black Pearl_ from. It was a small thing, a solid vessel, which donned a low-flying buccaneer's _joli rouge_ and was sparsely crewed. Not the man-o-war that he had set her up with. This, apparently, proved that her ship had gone missing and that he was at the top of her suspects list.

Was there some unspoken agreement among women wherein they had collectively decided to blame him for all their lives' troubles?

"Don' you be getting cheeky with me, Jack Sparrow. I know bloody well 't'was you 'ho put the idea in the lad's head." She was shaking her finger at him, as was customary when she was given to chastising him, which had become quite the common occurrence in their crossings.

Just an hour or so earlier, the ship that was now fettered to _Pearl_'s starboard had broken the horizon of the Windward Passage and later come to hail them. He hadn't recognized the vessel, but had decided that she looked easy enough to overpower, should the need arise, so he had ordered that the anchor be dropped, and anticipated the news carried by the passersby or engagement in a bartering session. Buccaneers carried the loveliest cuts of pork. too bad they didn't carry a decent season

Little had he known that the irate female pirate would be the one boarding.

He made a placating gesture towards her by holding up his hands, in a surrender of sorts, while arching a brow at her accusation. "I've had a bit of a…strenuous couple of weeks, Ana. Would you mind, tremendously, expunging a bit of that murk on my part?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Will Turner," she bit out in a soft, venomous manner.

Jack slid his eyes to Elizabeth's form as she fussed with some ropes that were already in order. She appeared frozen by Ana's reply, and he was almost certain that he had heard a gasp from her direction. He drug his gaze back to that of Anamaria's fiery one. "The whelp?"

Her fists found their stay upon her hips and she made a bit of a face. "Aye, 'the whelp.'"

He nodded and gestured to his cabin doors. "Shall we continue in private, then?" His tossed his head in Elizabeth's direction.

Anamaria turned, seeming to notice the lady for the first time and furrowed her brows, nodding slowly. To the other ship, she shouted, "Sparrow'll be takin' me on, Cap'n Maynard!" gee, where did that come from?

"Aye, Anamaria!" the short man at the helm returned. The order to "sail ho" was given, and the ship was cut loose from the _Pearl_.

"Ladies first," Jack said, opening a door for Anamaria, who passed by him, jaw set and chest puffed out indignantly. He sent a pained look in the direction of the Nether Realm, which, it seemed, had also denied his application for smooth sailing, and decided that his luck with women had simply run out, before entering his cabins.

**· § ·**

"I'm afraid, Captain, that I do not follow your logic."

Curry sat up straighter at his dinner table and finished scratching a moldy spot off a stale biscuit; now that he thought about it, the _Miseria_'s departure from Tortuga had been far too hasty, as they had practically forgotten about those fittings that they'd docked for after encountering the Governor. He tore off a piece of the bread and popped the morsel into his mouth, deciding that the need for a restocking was far greater than the new adventure he'd managed to get himself into.

He looked up at the Governor of Port Royal, who sat across from him, hands folded and resting respectfully on the edge of the old table, one set of fingers rapping daintily over the backside of the opposite palm serving as the only indication of any slight impatience. "A funny thing, my friend, logic, that is. Took me years to gain the wee bit I've, but 'tis up there," he said, tapping his forefinger at his temple. "As, I heartily suspect, is yours."

Swann seemed to consider this statement for a few moments, before nodding a request that the Captain continue with his explanation.

"Y' see, Governor, the last thing I need is for your local Commodore—Norrington, I believe it is—to be chasing my Misery and her crew about on charges of holding you for ransom. Seems he's famed for being all but hospitable towards gentlemen such as myself and the boys." He held a grin when the other man's nose scrunched at his referring to himself as a gentleman. "Though the most recent escapes of Captain Sparrow do call those peculiar manners of your Commodore into question, I find it hard to consider that, in the slight that we were to be captured by your man, we might be released by your word alone. Surely he would not want to be made a fool of by more than one pirate, and as to your possible interjections on our favor: what do a few bloody cutthroats matter—" he held up his hand when the Governor moved to interrupt, "—especially when one takes to value the orders of the crown?"

At this, Weatherby sank back into his chair, eyeing Curry.

"And my luck, as you'll soon find, no doubt, no where nears that of the good Captain.

"So, there you have it, Governor. We simply murk up the waters, as it were, for your Commodore, in hopes that he will follow the false trail to Sparrow, thereby acquiring us enough time to get to where we're going, unhampered, if you will."

"Ah."

Captain Curry smiled at the voiced comprehension and clasped his hands with glee. "Well then, now that we've that out of the way, why not let's get ourselves on with today's payment?"

**· § ·**

"We've changed course. Where are we going?" Elizabeth asked as she topped the port stairs to the weather deck.

Jack released a splenetic sigh as he readjusted his grip on the helm with his right hand and drew a nearly empty bottle of rum from its resting place by his feet. "Not to worry, Miss Swann. Your safe return home will not be deferred for more than a day, I assure you. Anamaria was quite pertinacious about our harkening ourselves in the direction of—" he glanced at her "—of a lost shipmate."

"Is it Will?"

He only focused on the horizon and took a draught of rum in reply.

"Jack, he is my betrothed. I've a right to know."

"Said betrothed also had a right to inform you, if he so wished, which he, it would seem, did not."

She winced slightly at the sharp words. "You're simply unbearable, Jack Sparrow!" she shouted, and seeing that she had gotten his attention, continued, "Since dragging me aboard, you've done nothing aside from demean me to the point of redundancy and provide ridiculously elusive answers to my questions and-and…" She braced herself with a rung of the helm as her voice broke, and he watched her outburst wide-eyed. "I'm tired."

"The rum helps," he offered, and she laughed softly when he pressed the neck of the bottle into her free hand, shrugging prior to taking a few tiny sips.

"Apparently," he began after a while, shifting, "apparently, she came upon him while on an excursion in Fort Brine. He joined her crew and courier service."

She looked up at him, having been calmed a bit by the fiery drink. "How long since she last saw him?" she pressed quietly.

"Says he sailed away with her _Fury_—her ship, that is—nearly three months back, but she has word of him that carries up to the last fortnight or so, along with a few ideas of her own, as far as his whereabouts are concerned."

"He's alive, then? Truly?"

"It would seem that way."

She gazed out at the blanketed sky of the early morning. "You're planning to continue the search? With Anamaria?" She hoped that he couldn't see how put-off she felt.

"Anamaria is under the impression that she's commandeering my ship. Clearly, she still recognizes me as the one in charge, but she has been insolently demanding. I find that pacifying her is the best course for us all."

"Where are we going?" she asked again.

"See for yourself," he invited with a hand.

She faced forward again, being able to see, for the first time this day, her surroundings illuminated by a red dawn. Decaying vessels and debris jutted out from the water, looking very much like the Graveyard of Ships that she had crept through only a few times in her life, all of those treks being more than four years ago. A shiver broke through her body, and she swung back to him. "The Isla de Muerta? That's where we're going?"

"Aye. Don't tell me that the particularly nasty spit of land still troubles you." He craned his neck curiously. "Would that be the cause of your lack of sleep, or is it, perhaps, something else?"

"It doesn't trouble me at all," she lied. "But you could have warned me. That would have been the proper course of action!" her voice rose, and she accented herself by slamming a small fist into his left shoulder, throwing herself balance. Her bottom crashed into the deck, and she groaned.

He looked down at her. "My lady, at some point, you are going to have to square with the fact that propriety holds no value amongst pirates, as I have reminded you countless times before," he offered a hand, which she accepted, and pulling her up, "even though some of us may be honed in those manners which you so adore and probably show favor where it isn't due."

She leaned back against the helm. "You've been showing me favor, Captain Sparrow?"

"Only returning it, Love, though," he fixed his grip on the helm and shuffled a bit, "I must admit that I find it rather hard to do so when forced to endure your persistent pettish paroxysms. I had assumed that you had cured such trifles, as you've been a tad scarce in these later days."

She began to slug her way from the helm, but as if sensing her intended escape, his left hand took its place on the other side of the wheel, effectively enclosing her in what could almost pass as an embrace. She rifled through her mind, trying to find something worthy of focus, and ended up taking stock of the beads in his hair as she replied to the unasked question, "I've been busy."

"Of that I am well aware, but I wonder if your constant preoccupation isn't due to the fact that, in truth, you don't really find me all that unbearable."

Thirteen. "I'm not sure where you came by that concept, Captain, but allow me to reassure you that I truly cannot bear you in the slightest," she lied again, his closeness assaulting her concentration and causing her mind to be flooded by a not-so-forgotten moment. Was that twenty-nine or thirty-one?

"I see." Elizabeth Swann could hold her own in the game; of that, he was sure. But where the whelp may have faltered, he conquered. He nudged closer, his measured breaths washing over her features.

"I'm glad we have that settled then," forty-one, "and I believe that the crew might benefit from my help before I go down to prepare breakfast."

He inched inward, not about to give, when she was so close to admitting that he affected her. "Elizabeth," he murmured tauntingly, but didn't get any farther. I'm debating further and farther there; technically, I think it could be either. Any input?

"Fifty-seven!" she exclaimed.

He pulled back, momentarily at a loss due to her most recent exercise. "What?"

"Fifty-seven beads, six coins, and one bone. But I can't see what you've covered with the bandana." no, I have not counted, but if someone wants to volunteer…

He chuckled lowly, then moved farther away, dropping his left hand. She had resorted to appraising his hair in order to keep herself together this time. He had her right where he wanted her. "Sixty-three beads, to be exact, unless I lost a few. Again."

She nodded, glad to have broken up the moment, and stepped from the helm. A thought came suddenly, as she relived the situation and her slight triumph, and she grinned mischievously. "I'm curious, Captain. Did you happen to name the _Fury_ yourself?"

He focused on the dark cliffs and fog before them, revelling in his own one-up, and answered nonchalantly, "Aye. She was called _Vesta_ before I plundered her. Didn't quite suit Ana."

"I see. I wonder what Anamaria would give to know that you named her ship after the goddesses whose sheer purpose was to drive wicked men, not very unlike yourself, Mr. Sparrow, insane." She took another drink of rum before setting the empty bottle at his feet.

He cut his eyes in the direction of her rising form, picking up on what was, no doubt, soon to follow. "I wonder."

"Of course, she really doesn't _need_ to know, does she?"

There it was. "Get on with it, Darling.," he prompted her demands, holding back his mirth at her conniving manner.

"I want to go ashore with you."

His immediate instinct was to refuse, but as she thought she had leverage, he entertained the idea. "Are you sure about that? After what happened last time?"

She swallowed, aware of all that "last time" entailed. "I'm sure," she said slowly.

"I won't be having to thwart any vain attempts at self-sacrifice?"

"You have my word." She certainly didn't want to relive the precarious incident that her last mistake had gotten her into.

"Then you'd best go help Ana ready the boat for our departure," he told her, indicating where Anamaria stood on the maindeck, working with the davits of the boat that once served as Elizabeth's roost.

She nodded her compliance. "Thank you." Then, as she turned, "But really, Jack, the _Fury_?"

He slid his impish gaze back to her. "It was either that, or _Harpy_."

**· § ·**

"I can see the both of you: that night by the fire. I heard all about it. I do wonder, Jack, why did you not take her that night? Did you believe her above you? Was it an act of chivalry or perhaps that bemoaned inebriation of yours? Did you do it for me, for him?"

The Master and yes, that would be dundundun! The Head Baddie lay back in the sand and placed his arms behind his head, grinning up at what was left of the waning moon and visible stars.

"Is she yours now, or does she still resist?"

He sat up as the sun broke over the horizon, announcing the morning.

"I have waited long enough. We'll be together again, Jack. All of us. Soon, everything will be as it should."

**· § ·**

Jack and his two feminine afflictions exited the boat, and he pulled it onto the shore.

"Best be quick about this; the crew'll wish to have their booty as soon as possible." He turned to find that they had already preceded him into the cavern. Sighing, he followed. "Just remember to keep yourselves from my treasure. You made quite a dent in it last time, Ana, and as for you, Miss Swann, don't think that you can pay me back with me own…" his sentence fell unended as he arrived at the mouth of the cave, only to be greeted with dozens of muskets and a very red sight.

"Good morning, Mr. Sparrow. I trust your night was ill-starred, as was your little plan."

"Commodore." He narrowed his eyes and gave a bit of a smile. "How have you been?" He found Elizabeth standing with a couple of soldiers and frowning, but there was no Anamaria to be seen.

"Only overjoyed to be hauling you in once and for all. We can conduct the hanging on the _Dauntless_. Gillette, the irons."

The lieutenant and two solders approached Jack.

"Now, Sparrow," Norrington continued, "I'm sure you're wondering how we managed to get ourselves out here to the Isla de Muerta."

"You had your men chart the bearings when I had to light your way to young master Turner," came the reply in a bored tone.

The other man was obviously unnerved and irked by this, but only smiled tightly in response. "I was certain that you would turn up here sooner or later before making your way to Port Royal to return the Governor and his daughter." He faced Elizabeth. "Are you well, Miss Swann? Has he…harmed you in any fashion?"

Jack, too, set questioning eyes upon her.

She shook her head quickly, after giving it a moment's consideration. "Of course not, Commodore. I'm fine." She licked dry lips. "What of my father? Why should Jack be returning him?"

James gave her a look of bewilderment. "He's taken your father, Elizabeth, and is ransoming him. He threatened death in the letter!"

Her gaze snapped to Jack's.

He pressed his hands together, in yet another placating gesture for another accusing female. "Exceedingly flattered that you would think me capable of such while simultaneously conducting the search for the errant blacksmith, Love, but, I fear even the famed _Captain_," he eyed Norrington pointedly before returning to her, "Jack Sparrow cannot endure more than one Swann for any prolonged period in such close quarters."

She nodded slowly. "I have been with him for nearly the past two weeks, James. I hardly think that he could have hidden my father from me on the _Black Pearl_, as grand a ship as she may be."

"Yes, well, that brings us back to your kidnapping. He escaped, rendered a man unconscious, and intercepted you on your way to Havana."

Her brows furrowed when he mentioned Havana.

"Gillette, the irons!"

The man jumped and began securing Jack's wrists.

"Really, Gentlemen, is this all that necessary?" the pirate asked as the first cuff was locked.

"Most certainly. You will not be escaping this time, Sparrow."

"Commodore, your charges are groundless!" Elizabeth shouted, going over to him. "I was the one who kidnapped him. I freed him from the jail and forced him to take me aboard his ship."

Norrington sighed. "The man is still a pirate, Elizabeth. Don't contrive to throw your freedom away by yielding for him."

Jack rolled his eyes at the scene before him and happened to catch a glimpse of a moving shadow. Upon further speculation, he was able to decipher Anamaria. When his gaze caught hers, he jutted his head backwards ever so slightly, indicating the cavern's entrance. He saw her nod, and then she was gone. she'll be back; don't worry

"Is this his doing?" the Commodore was asking, indicating Elizabeth's hair. "And these?" He fingered a feathered earring. "Elizabeth, have you gone mad? Have you forgotten your station? You're the Governor's daughter!"

She flushed, the unsightly things having slipped her mind, and managed to glare at him and Jack simultaneously. "I know perfectly well whose daughter I am, Commodore, and I find it exceptionally rude for you to question the sanity of a lady of my _station_. Any changes you may note are merely the result of an expedient circumspection."

He looked about to say something, but instead only nodded. "It is still my duty to arrest Sparrow and yours not to place obstacle in my path." He saw that Jack was secured and called, "Come along, men. We must be on our way; ten days won't be long out on the sea. Miss Swann." He offered his arm, but she bowed her head and followed along as they led the prisoner out.

Once situated in the small boat, Jack eyed the Commodore's back, contemplating the latest happenings: the apparent kidnapping of Governor Swann by a man masking as himself, and yet another fruitless attempt at sacrifice on his daughter's part. He sincerely hoped that the old man was not nearly as impulsive as she. He rose up a bit. "A word, if I may, Commodore."

Norrington glanced back from his perch at the bow. "What is it, Sparrow?"

"Not that I would impart to call into question the lady's tact, but her inapt confession—"

"Rubbish, I know."

"As long we have that settled." He stole a look at Elizabeth, who sat astern in the boat closest to them, watching the jagged rocks of the island as the oarsmen began to propel the boats around them.

The _Pearl_ was nowhere in sight, meaning that Anamaria must have taken his signal to heart. He'd just have to meet her later and hope that she wouldn't use the opportunity granted by his current absence to take his darling ship on any further excursions. For the meantime, he was rather stuck with this somber lot.

Luckily for Jack, the Fates, for once, were on his side, deciding to blow apart the daintily demure silence with a loud whistle.

His brows furrowed. "Are those—?"

"Cannons!" the Commodore shouted, finishing Jack's question.

Resonating _thumps_ consistent with the return of fire charged the air, and the pirate stiffened. He would drain the life from Ana when he got his hands around her throat.

The rowers sped up, and soon, they could see a retreating _Pearl_, no longer under fire, making her way out to sea, while bright flames licked up the masts of the _Dauntless_.

"_Abandon ship!_" called one of the sailors, who had apparently been left behind. A few men were seen diving overboard before the ship was blown to bits in a massive explosion.

Jack took his chance at this distraction and pulled away from the grips of the dumbfounded soldiers who were guarding him before hurling himself into the water.

He made his way to shore quickly, dropping on his knees to rest when he got there. It wasn't until he heard extremely labored breathing behind him that he realized he was not alone, and turned to find none other than Miss Swann, herself. "Woman, have you not had your fill of me yet?" he asked incredulously.

Between heavy breaths, she said, "I decided that I wasn't quite ready to return home yet. We need to find my father, and Will…"

He squared her firmly. "Not bloody likely." He stood and headed towards the cove.

She followed. "Jack, we must!"

He faced her. "The altruistic Jack Sparrow has flown away," his hands portrayed a bird flying into the air, "perhaps to return someday, but not while certain stricken swans are on the prowl!" Pivoting, he practically marched over a small set of rocks in an attempt to rid himself of her, if only for a while.

"Altruistic! Stricken? Why that's positively…" She lost her words, as this time, she was the one to enter into unfriendly waters belatedly. Dropping off the rocks, she was surprised to find herself surrounded by an impressive array of cutlasses, pistols, and pirates. Familiar pirates.

"Cap'n Sparra', fancy meetin' ye here."

"I'm sure it is," he said, eyeing the three men, who had shoved him off a rather tall cliff not too long ago, and their large party, "but really, I must be on my way. You're welcome to the wench, though. I believe she's looking for passage." He made to leave, but was halted by an extended cutlass.

"Act'lly, we'd prefer yer comp'ny 's well." The man nodded to his crew, and Jack was relieved of his weapons before he and Elizabeth were encircled by the gaggle of pirates and ushered around the cove.

Moments later, a massive ship came into view. A hideously familiar galleon. Yes, it was, in fact, the very same upon which Jack had set foot only days ago, and her flag was flying correctly.

"Jack, isn't that the—"

"The Dead Ship. Or temporarily dead, as the case has proved."

"Not quite, Captain, but thin's'll be revealed soon enough," the man, who was obviously in charge, said.

Jack was pulled aboard by his irons, while the pirates seemed to take the utmost care with Elizabeth, carrying her over the side and binding her hands with rope.

"Welcome aboard the _Wasp Arrow_, Sir. We hope she'll serve to accommodate ye in yer accustomed manner."

"Who are you?"

"I'm called Garren. Nah if ye'll jus' drink this," he offered a goblet of what looked to be wine, "we c'n be on our way."

"No thanks. I never much cared for the stuff myself."

"I'm afraid I'm goin' ta hafte insist on the matter." Garren lifted a pistol and leveled it at Elizabeth's forehead.

Jack glared at her before hesitantly taking the drink and downing it. "Well, it's certainly not rum, but stout as a baby's bottom, in it's wake, that is. Horrible after taste. Now, mates, I believe we should be discussing the return…" he paused as his perception was knocked out of alignment, "...the return of an item you purged from…" He looked over at Elizabeth and saw three of her, forgetting his words. "Oh, you ladies haven't overlooked me, after all. I was wondering if you'd gone astray from your duties in light of my charms." He sent them what he thought to be a devilish grin.

"Jack, what are you going on about?" she whispered. "Are you well?" She looked to the men. "What have you given him?"

He saw moving mouths, but heard nothing, and assumed this to be part of the madness soon to be fully bestowed upon him, in his stupor. "I have to admit." He focused on the apparition in the center and cupped his mouth as his eyelids drooped, "Don't tell the others, but I had expected you furies to be quite hideous…little creatures…" he trailed off as he sank to the deck, unconscious.

"Jack!" Elizabeth pulled from the light grasp that one of the pirates had on her upper arm and rushed forward.

* * *

Original Content: 2003.12.30 


	8. Indecent Indiscretions

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Disclaimer: Any names dropped here and found in the movie aren't mine, and anyone who claims otherwise owes me a lot of money.

Notes:  
This fic is currently being re-drafted, and the new chapters cannot be posted here until I've revised all of them. For the latest redone chapter, visit my profile, where you'll find a link. Feedback is still highly appreciated.

Also, please note that some author comments are embedded in the text since the brackets were taken out by TPB.

* * *

**Forty-Six & 2, Chapter Eight - Indecent Indiscretions**  
_filthy and improper behaviours_

'It's far too quiet,' was the most prominent thought of the many that currently coursed through Elizabeth's mind as she watched the unconscious pirate from her chair. Uneventful hours had stretched since she and Jack had been locked up in the small, dank cabin within the bowels of the _Wasp Arrow_. Though she couldn't see through the blackened portholes, as a fat tallow candle provided the only illumination, she figured that it must have been nearing nightfall, and she was beginning to worry. Somewhat about her father's whereabouts and what had happened to the Navy men after their ship had been blown to bits, but mostly about her current predicament. At first, she had thought that she had only been brought along because she happened to be near Jack at the time of hisâ€¦kidnapping, was it? But now, she wasn't so sure.

_"Anythin' ye need at all, simply ask it, Miss Swann,"_ the words of their captor came back to her.

It wasn't the fact that he had been so kind to offer such a thing, treating her as any other ship captain might treat a woman of her station or that he wasn't at all concerned by her captain's condition that he'd brought on. Instead, it was his use of her name, a name that she hadn't given him, which made her question his true intent.

Surely, she had no idea what his true intent was, but she had come up with a few interesting possibilities. The most likely of those seemed to be that Jack had somehow wronged their "Leige," who was now out for some kind of revenge. But what kind of revenge could be gotten out of forcing him to drink what may be his death? And why bother with her? Why were they offering her any necessities rather than throwing her overboard?

Her thoughts were interrupted when Jack suddenly started to go into a coughing fit, and she rushed to the cot that he lay on, lifting his head and turning it quickly in order to angle a small bowl by his mouth so that it caught most of the vomit.

When he had finished, she took the bowl to the door and knocked, waiting for the guard to retrieve it. Instead of a tall, scraggly man opening the door, the leader entered, allowing two men who followed to set a small basin and pitcher of water on the tiny table in the center of the cabin before leaving and closing the door behind them.

Garren faced her. "Ha's the Captain?"

She handed the vomit off to him and glared. "As well as can be expected, I presume."

He nodded, ignoring her outright belligerence. "Ordered some food to be brought up to yeh." And, cuedly, another man entered, bringing in a wooden board with half a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine on it and setting it on the table as well. He left as quickly as the others.

"And is this to put me in the same condition as Captain Sparrow, or shall it bring about a much swifter death?"

He laughed lightly. "Yeh've nothin' to fret about, Miss Swann. Though 'tis surely meager and less th'n appetizin', 'tis ne'ther taint'd."

She eyed him for a moment, his accent suddenly stronger and reminding her that this man who seemed to be kind enough to her had also been ready to strike her a blow upon their first meeting. Deciding against any further verbal provoking, she crossed her arms and nodded sharply. "Thank you, Captain."

A hoard of emotions appeared to cross him, and with a pained face, he said, "Just Garren, if you please, Miss."

"Mr. Garren," she amended quietly, curious at the request and its delivery.

"I be leavin' yeh to yer Captain, th'n. Keep 'im cool," he instructed before making his exit.

She turned from the door to glance at Jack before going over to the table and pouring some water into the basin. She had found earlier that the single cabinet located on one wall held a few dingy rags and swiped one before dowsing it in the water and returning to the cot. She removed his bandana and wrung the wet cloth over his forehead, jolting a bit when he unexpectedly jerked and moaned, his eyes slitting.

"Jack, are you awake?"

His eyes opened a bit wider, and his mouth looked to be readying itself to work. He rose, making to sit up.

She made an attempt to restrain the movement by placing her hands on his shoulders. "No, waitâ€""

But it was too late as he spewed, catching part of her dress and a shoe as well as many of the nearby planks.

She swallowed thickly to keep her bile down and eased him back onto the bed when he dead-weighted momentarily.

He blinked at her a few times and made a face at the mess.

Elizabeth smiled faintly, backing away somewhat. "Would you like to try some water?" At his tired nod, she went to the table and took a cup from the food tray, filling it with water before offering it to him. "Do you require assistance?"

He attempted to raise an eyebrow at the formality of the question, given the situation, but shook his head and managed to push himself up onto his elbows and take the cup. After ingesting some of the water, he straightened himself and scooted backwards so that he sat leaning against the aft wall of the ship. He cleared his throat, and after a few hacking coughs, spoke at nearly half his normal volume. "Persisâ€¦" He closed his eyes for a moment, then swallowed. When he looked at her again, some of the weariness had dissipated. "Persistent states such as these mightâ€¦might give some men cause to call their," he took a staggering breath, holding off a cough, "captaining skills into question."

She gave him an odd look, unsure if he was still disoriented or actually trying to make sense.

He sighed and planted his fists into the mattress, pushing his weight onto them, "Seems I had a hand in bringing you into this current affair, though," he concentrated on swinging one foot over the edge of the bed as his speech became clearer, "I can imagine you might have altered your fate," he pulled the other leg over, so that both feet were together on the floor and let his gaze meet hers again, "if you were prone to consult a bit of foresight when faced with such," he waved a hand about carelessly, "inopportune circumstances."

She looked down for moment and took in a short breath, saying quietly, "Not now, Jack."

He nodded his agreement, then, when she looked for his reaction, gave, "Aye, other matters taking precedent." He glanced at her hands, finding the washcloth in one and his bandana in the other, sighing nearly in gratitude at the unvoiced proposal. "A fine idea, if I do say so myself, Miss Swann," a playful glint behind his sickly eyes. He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it over some of the vomit that decorated the floor.

Her eyes widened slightly, and she quickly turned away to offer him some privacy and hide a particular tinge that she hadn't had to deal with in days. She cleared her throat and thought she might have heard him chuckle quietly, but ignored it and asked, "How are you feeling?"

He allowed his boots to clunk to the floor before solemnly replying, "Horrible. Empty, numb, pained, hot, cold," he let a brief ghost of a grin pervert his fatigue, "and otherwise unable to properly enjoy having the ability to fluster a certain Governor's daughter at current."

She laughed softly. "You are a cad, Jack Sparrow." Movement and a grunt behind her indicated his rising as more clothes met the pile, and she swallowed as her imagination began webbing the possibilities.

"Among other things, Love, among other things." Pleased with his newly naked state, he slumped back down onto the cot. "Might I make use of that rag you're clenching there?"

Having forgotten that she was holding the thing, she brought it to her eyelevel the see that she was, indeed, 'clenching' it, and reached forward, drenching it in water again before thrusting her arm in his direction. She ignored the prickle that danced across her skin as his fingers took the rag, and inquired as to whether or not he would like some of the food that had been brought.

Doing his best to purge himself of the filth (though he maintained that his particularly notorious filth reached far too deeply into his black guts for any true "purging") with the tiny cloth, he declined her offer. "Not sure it'd be too wise an idea at the moment."

She nodded. "The leader says he shall get us anything we might request, within reason, of course."

"Don't suppose releasing us would be a 'reasonable' request, eh?" He sniffed the rag and jolted at its stench before continuing his cleaning. "You can ask them to freshen my clothes," he hissed when he brushed over a sore spot of which he was previously unaware, "and return my effects, if it's not too much trouble."

"I'll see what I can do."

His beads jingled as he tossed the rag aside and pulled himself the rest of the way onto the mattress.

"What will they do with us, Jack?" she posed, voice quiet and unsure.

"I wish I knew, Love," he began to fade as he lay back, "but until such time as they see fit to inform us," he paused for a moment of rest, his forearm covering his brow, the recent activity having taken its toll, "and I'm back to myâ€¦usual selfâ€¦" he trailed off, groaning.

"Oh. I'm sorry. You need your rest."

"No worries, Darling. Don't concern yourself too much with old Jack here." Turning, he slowly brought the tattered quilt over his body. "Things'll look better in the morning, as always," he waningly assured her.

The swish of the cover announced smells like personification to me that it was safe, and she faced him. She watched him lie there with his back to her, breathing already evening out. She turned away again and fetched another rag from the cabinet, deciding to clean her dress and shoe before having some of the bread. She opted for water rather than the wine, and once sustained, she returned to the bedside and swabbed at the mess on the floor with another rag. When done, she set it in an empty pail and moved his boots to the side before folding his soiled clothes.

After another look at the sleeping pirate, she straightened his blanket where it had drooped from over his shoulders. She smothered a yawn and eyed him for another prolonged moment before moving over to the table again.

"Thank you, Elizabeth." It was muffled by the mattress and quilt, but distinguishable, nonetheless, and for an instant, she wasn't even sure she had heard it.

Choosing not to acknowledge it, she pulled the chair from under the table. "Goodnight, Jack."

**Â· Â§ Â·**

"Missâ€""

"'S just Anamaria, Commodore," the lady pirate corrected sternly. Few hours had lapsed, and already, she was tiring of the demure military man.

When she and Gibbs had decided it was safe to return for Jack and his charge, they certainly hadn't been expecting to find the waters surrounding the Isla de Muerta to be infested with a decent portion of the Royal Navy loaded in longboats. Jack's quartermaster wouldn't let it rest until they had taken the men aboard. Damned seabees.

The Commodore made another pained face at her ordered request, but complied nonetheless, bobbing his head and muttering, "Anamaria." He regarded Joshamee with a nod as well, "Mr. Gibbs, I would like to again thank you for taking the men and myself aboard. Upon our return to Port Royal, you may rest, assured that I shan't make to incarcerate or execute you, and, in light of the Governor's absence, I shall see to it that the lot of you are pardoned of yourâ€¦accused crimes."

Ana gave Gibbs a look, and he nodded, rising from his seat at Jack's parlay table. "'S very kind of yeh, Commodore, but 'm afraid th't 'ntil the Cap'n has been located, we be 'nable to accommodate ye by makin' another trip to Port Royal."

Easily flustered, Norrington rose as well. "Surely you do not mean to keep us captive on this-this _pirate ship_," he spat.

Anamaria shared another look with Gibbs, then he sat, and she stood.

"That's just what we have in mind, lest you cooperate."

"I have given nothing but my complete cooperation since you brought us on, M-Anamaria. What else would you have me do?"

"Order your men to aid the crew in search of Jack."

"He's a pirate!"

"As are we. Surely you would not forget your place, Norrington."

Resigning himself and straightening quickly, he said, "Miss Swann escaped with him as well. If I were to order the men to scour the area for her, no stone would be left unturned, and it's certain that he will be lurking about her."

She held a glare on him. "Do what you must. Just see that it's done."

Taking his dismissal, Commodore Norrington left the cabin.

"Holdin' yer own wi' th' Commodore; Jack'd be proud."

She turned her look on Joshamee, who wasn't at all put off by it, and allowed a small smile after a bit. "I've been captainin' my own ship for some time now. Someone has to see things get done."

He grinned. "I must admit, though, s'metimes yer loyalty t' Jack s'prises e'en me." At her raised brow, he explained, "Though'ched commandeered us."

"He's a good captain. Got me my prize." She paused for a moment, remembering when the ship in Barbados had first caught her eye, and then, it was clouded over with the last time she'd seen it. "I'll be needing him to get Turner."

He shook his head and laughed. "Aye, that Will Turner. Awful pop'lar for a blacksmith. 'Tween yehself and Miss Elizabeth, boy dun't stand much of a chance."

**Â· Â§ Â·**

Elizabeth wasn't sure what woke her from her light slumber, her body suddenly pulling taut and bringing her head up from the table where she had put down for the night. She stood, the chair screeching dully as she moved around the table to get a fuller view of the door. It was still shut up tightly, and through the narrow crack of dim light visible beneath it, she could see a pair of still boot heels. So the intrusion mustn't have come from the pirates outside.

Looking around, she came to the full realization of just where she was and whom she was with as her haze of sleep diminished. Another lamp had been placed on the table while she had been napping. She lifted it up and moved it so that it shinned on Jack's sleeping form. His brow was furrowed deeply and again slicked with sweat. He appeared to have not woken since earlier in the night, and she wondered exactly how long she had been sleeping.

She started when he suddenly grunted and tossed his head to one side.

"Don't you bloody dare, Turner," he grated in a loud but hoarse voice.

Each of her nerves zinged attentively. "Jack?" she asked hesitantly, wondering whether he was gamboling or only dreaming.

"Don't goon kudupa daith for me," he whispered in garbled words. "Ghve kamana wife andâ€¦boy kuwait in peru â€¦ home."

Elizabeth's own brow wrinkled in confusion. What was he going on about now? She'd managed to make out "wife" and "boy." Was he talking to Will in his sleep? A wife and child?

"Merenfrentaâ€¦Isleâ€¦treasure. Ketua opportune momentâ€¦barterâ€¦Englandâ€¦neroomieâ€¦Bill."

Bill? Her lips parted in realization. ever notice that Liz's lips part about as often as Jack narrows his eyes? Was it a memory or a dream?

"You hear me old man?" his voice had softened somewhat, managing another comprehensible sentence.

She watched him for a few minutes, as he seemed calm for a bit before he began struggling with the covers. Panicking to some degree, she rushed to retrieve a fresh rag and dowsed it before moving to swab at his forehead. "Jack, wake up."

He didn't comply with her order, but his body did relax, and she sighed, a bit relieved. She continued to mop at his face, softly humming the old pirate tune that she had learned so many years ago as a way of filling the silence.

The man moaned and began to kick at the quilt again without warning. She swallowed as she took in his uncovered chest, where his shoulders had barely been visible moments before. Why was he affecting her like this? It wasn't as if he was the first half-naked man she'd ever seen.

Was it because of the kiss?

Will Turner had given to her her first real kiss. It had been soft, sweet, and he had tasted like salt and cinders, just as she had always imagined, just as he did in every other kiss they had gone on to share.

Jack tasted likeâ€¦

Had she ever conjured kissing Jack Sparrow, she would have thought that he tasted like rum or the sea, or a queer mix of the two.

In reality, he tasted likeâ€¦

'Blast it all!' She didn't know. She couldn't remember! In her shock, she hadn't processed the taste of his sweet depredation. Sweet? Not sweet. _Heinous!_ It was a heinous depredation against her person. By Jack Sparrow. Who lay before her in bed, all but naked. And she could care less how he tasted or which flavours were his.

Her eyes raked his face, settling on his lips, which were curled slightly in the semblance of a smile, as the tone of his dream must have changed, and that familiar draft of flame painted her face. She glared at him and his unconscious effect, and ignored the slight clench in her stomach.

Collecting herself, she went back to her humming and ran the rag over his neck roughly for good measure. The scoundrel.

"Love, not the rum," Jack urged softly.

Again startled, her gaze swept to his eyes, finding that they were still closed. She smiled as his features scrunched up in what appeared to be a desperate pout. She leaned down and whispered, "Not this time, Captain." She lingered for a second too long, studying him.

In the next moment, she found herself lying on her back with Jack on top of her, hands and knees braced on the planks on either side of her body as his arms and upper legs supported his body. She looked up at him in horror as he sent her a grin of sly satisfaction, the dim light somehow catching his gold teeth as his eyes flashed brilliantly at her.

"Good morning, Love. I told you things would look better," he proclaimed, though still a bit foggy from his rest. He had been having the loveliest dream about the Isle of Rum and a willing swan, only to wake up and find that he was actually still aboard the Dead Ship with the persistently _un_willing lady, whose lips had been perched a whisper away from his skin. Clearly, the opportune moment had put forth itself.

She struggled, breath heaving, her back unhappy with its place upon the unyielding wood of the floor. "What are you doing?"

"You and I have matters to discuss."

"I believe we are both quite capable of discussing any 'matters' without being in such close proximities. I would be obliged if you'd removed yourself from me, Mr. Sparrow." She tried to scoot from beneath himâ€"to no avail, as one might have expected.

"Actually, I find that things go much more smoothly when I've the upper hand against you, Darling. And unless you want your proximity farther encroached upon, I'd suggest you cease all that thrashing." Perhaps, in his sleep-addled state, he had hastened the moment; she was going to drive him mad before he was able to properly take advantage of having her ears (among other parts) at his disposal.

She froze and glanced down at his waist to find the blanket riding low about his hips and bunched up around his thighs. She gulped and returned her gaze to his.

"There, now. We'll start with your most recent attempt at owning up to a deed to which you have no claim." At her questioning look, he continued, "The very idea that you would even consider kidnapping me or raising a hand against a soldier of the fleet is atrociously ludicrous. Even your bloody Norrington could see through that one. I thought I had already made it painfully clear how poor your craft is."

'He must tire of lecturing me at some point,' she thought, readying herself to match against him once again. Glare tactfully in place, she spat, "I was _attempting_ to save your neck. They were planning to string you up before we even returned to port."

"I'm fully aware of what the Commodore's intentions were, and appreciative as I might be for the thought, given that the stakes did not so fitfully parallel your other imprudent absurdities, offering up your own freedom is no way to go about extricating a pirateâ€"especially one who has survived many years without the futile aid of a pristine lady like yourself." He squared her firmly and marked his next words carefully, "I didn't ask for your help, Elizabeth."

She bit her lip in consideration. "But I do owe it to you."

He released a gush of air. Having been proclaimed a shyster and a devil countless times in any number of tongues, he truly was tiring of having to appeal to the lady's senses in order to quell her apparent lust for her own downfall while ignoring his own wont in the process.

Why should he be concerned? What matter of his was she?

Why should he not? Did he not owe William that much?

He numbed the feuding thoughts. "Self-incrimination, undue guilt, and other hindrances of progress are not methods of repayment that I'd prefer. Gold and other tangible booty are far easier to negotiate with, and acquire, for that matter."

She looked away. "Thatâ€¦that wasn't the debt that I was referring to."

"No?" He sterned. "Don't tell me you've made the mistake of robbing me again?"

She returned her gaze. "You've saved my life. More than once. And I have tried to return the favour, but it is a feat easier said and thought than followed through."

"There isn't a lick bfg of sense in you further distressing when we're already square. You must learn to first lay a solid foundation up here," he drew his index finger along her temple, "before letting into the construction." He let his thumb brush her lower lip, and his eyes briefly lingered on her mouth before reconnecting with hers. "You need give list to your words and actions, Milady, particularly when your father isn't about."

She took her lip back into her mouth to relieve it of his touch and nodded.

His hand dropped. "Good. Now about theseâ€¦" His other hand lightly rubbed the skin underneath her eye.

She blinked, realizing that he was referring to the dark circles that had developed in recent nights aboard the _Pearl_. "It's none of your concern, Captain," she said in what she hoped was a firm tone.

He smirked. "Actually, as you're one of the crew, _my_ crew, it _is_ my concern."

"Jack, if you're going to do no more than chastise and hold your rank against me, then you can oblige us both by letting me up and occupying your thoughts with figuring out a way to escape."

He raised his head and readjusted himself as if readying to rise, then paused once he'd found a more accommodating position, and looked back down at her. "Lovely weather we've been having, aye?"

Having been given slightly more space and a shot of anger to duly fuel her, she pulled her arm up and pushed against his chest, ordering, "Off!"

Her outburst put an odd look on his face, and he slowly tilted his head so that he could eye the hand she had placed upon his bare skin, then lifted it again, his gaze waiting for hers as she, too, was staring at her poised palm.

Embarrassed, she battled the blood that was quickly rising (yet again) and glanced back up, only to become entranced by his darkened, mirth-laced eyes.

His hand covered over hers, holding it in place. "A lady of your state should have been better educated in the dangers of idle hands. You can never be sure what caliber of evil they might pursue." Slowly, his head descended, hair curtaining around him, as she arched upward, almost imperceptibly. But just before he could complete the task he'd set out to accomplish, he heard what sounded like a faint, "Will!"

His eyes narrowed, and he jerked his head back. "What?"

"I said you've been ill. I don'tâ€¦wantâ€¦" she let his gaze take hers again, forgetting her protest. One taste was awfully tempting. Especially when he was no longer showing any signs of his sickness. Maybe if he ate something first. She'd hate for her first registered taste to be polluted by his stomach's earlierâ€¦disagreements.

Perhaps the swan his Tree of Knowledge. He was well versed in both evil and good, most likely a bit more in the former. Surely the Divine didn't feel that Captain Jack Sparrow was in need of further edification in such respects. He knew the story of the Temptation of Man well, of its consequences and benefits. The Fall was inevitable. Too much Milton; couldn't resistâ€¦the Temptation; sorry, bad joke

"Sooner or later, Elizabethâ€""

He was interrupted by the door of the cabin as it was slammed open. In the frame stood Garren, looking sheepish but relieved. "You are awake, Captain Sparrow."

Jack faced the other man, making no other move from Elizabeth, save for dropping the hand that kept hers touching him. "Aye."

His stance changed. "We've arrived at 'ur destination. Make yerselves ready t' be escorted to maindeck." He dropped a bundle, which turned out to be Jack's clothes upon further inspection, just to the side of the frame inside the cabin.

Jack was obviously displeased as he grunted above Elizabeth and nodded sharply. The rumble of his chest made her realize where her hand still rested inappropriately on him, and she pulled it away quickly, while his attentions were focused elsewhere.

Garren returned a hasty nod and left, closing the door behind himself.

She swallowed when the pirate captain turned his gaze back on her, and she blurted quickly, "Clean clothes. You should get dressed."

He kept his eyes on her for a few thick seconds before gingerly moving off of her in order to rise and retrieve his clothing, keeping the quilt around his waist with one hand.

She stood and watched the door, only to realize that she was staring at himâ€"poised to dressâ€"when he arched an eyebrow at her and gave an impish grin. She whipped around and, having nothing else that would keep her thoughts from wandering to moreâ€¦indecent indiscretions, she ran her fingers through her hair in an effort to make herself more presentable. To whom, she wasn't quite sure.

In those moments of peace, she realized that their captor had, in fact, just saved her from making what would have been a most regrettable mistake. Imagine, wanting Jack Sparrow's kiss.

Imagineâ€¦

"Shall we?"

She froze, wide-eyed and surprised by his return and closeness. How could a man who swaggered so move with such stealth? She dropped her hand from her hair and turned, brushing by him quickly to hurry to the door.

When she opened it, the guard was revealed. He eyed them both before jerking his head to indicate the stairs. She went forward, head high, vaguely aware of Jack and the other man following. Once above, however, she faltered upon seeing which "destination" was laid before them.

"Jack," she whispered in near-panic when he emerged from below and came to stand in front of her with his back to her.

"No worries, Love," he hushed her when Garren passed by them and waved a hand toward a waiting rowboat.

"Time to go," was all he said before he climbed over the bulwark and into the boat, waiting for the couple to join him.

The row to the isle where she and the Captain had once been marooned together was short and forebodingly quiet. Jack seemed unalarmed by the turn events, but his state of silence was again unsettling. Being stranded there another time was not a fate she would have wished. Especially if it were with the kohl-eyelined, hair-bejeweled pirate. Especially if there would be no rum to burn, nothing to occupy idle hands.

Too soon for her liking, they were ashore. Garren instructed them to head inland while he lagged back at the boat.

Jack went right ahead, leaving her to follow behind slowly. And then she saw him, a man emerging from the very palms that she had burned years ago in an attempt to save her own life and go to Will's rescue. He wore faded navy blue pants held up by a belt, and a white shirt under a dark gray, unbuttoned vest that nearly reached his calves. He was barefoot, weaponless, and she would have known his face anywhereâ€"no matter how weathered it may have grown.

"Will!" she cried and ran forward, but an arm shot out, preventing her from advancing. She looked up at Jack, both perplexed and rapidly angering, but he only kept his gaze fixed on the man before them.

"Not quite," he said lowly, an edge to his voice.

She looked back at her fiancÃ©e. It was Will, the man she loved, the man who had left her. But he was alive, standing not too far away. A bit taller than she remembered, hair a bit shorter, curlier, with more brandings from the sun. Skin rougher, darker, with more lines, marking the years that they had been apart, his own stories. But eyes that were the same, that danced with tenderness and warm mirth; eyes that were still her Will.

But the pirate felt otherwise, as he still kept her at bay.

"Jackâ€"" she started levelly in protest, only to be interrupted by a dumbfounded,

"Billâ€¦?" emerging from the aforementioned pirate captain's lips.

Bill? Bill Turner? Who Jack had been dreaming about only minutes ago? That couldn't be. Bill was dead, sent down to Davy Jones's. Will had told her that himself. No, it had to be Will who was alive. Her Willâ€¦

"It has been a while, hasn't it, Jack?" The man in question came closer. "And who is this lovely lady?" His eyes and direction favored her, and he stopped just in front of the pair.

How could Will not recognize her? Unlessâ€¦ Unless it truly wasn't him. She swallowed back a sob at the realization, and quickly put forth her well-bred faÃ§ade as her hopes were again laid to rest. She stepped around Jack's arm and offered her hand. "Elizabeth Swann."

"William Turnerâ€¦the First." He leaned forward and lifted her hand, pressing his lips to the smooth back. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he said, looking up. When he did, she saw something dark flicker in his eyes. It was so quick that she was sure she must have imagined it, and she smiled, returning the pleasantry.

He released her and stood straight, eyes now fixed on Jack, who looked to be calculating the situation. "Let us take matters back to the ship, shall we?" Without awaiting an answer, he moved past the pair and towards the shoreline.

Disappointed and confused, she sent another forced smile to Jack and made her way to the boat, letting him follow her this time.

* * *

I dropped all of these notes for the present. They may return. That was like a lot of notes... I really AM long-winded.

2005.04.11  
Hey, guys. This is a quick note to let you all know a few things. Firstly, I have not given up on this sucker. I know that might be hard to believe after a year without updates, but it's true. I think about this story all the time. I try to write it all the time. Not as dedicated as I could be, but you guys know how it is. One of the big problems has been this chapter. Every time I try to re-read it, I just get annoyed with its state. I really don't like it. So I'm trying to fix it, but in order to do that, I have to start with the source, chapter 5 and move up. Chapter 5, I can look at. It's just getting the time to split it the way it's supposed to be and then connect it properly.

Secondly, I really want to thank those of you who have sent encouraging emails and reviewed, especially those who are offering constructive criticism, something that I would love to get more of. For one thing, it helps to know that other people enjoy this as much as I do and see that it can still stand a lot of work. I am always looking to work the little kinks out of this stuff, so any input is greatly appreciated. Help me help you. I don't like everything I write, but sometimes it needs to go in there, and I can't think of the best way to get it. I'm always open to suggestions, and if you don't think it works, chances are that I might not either. And even if I do, that doesn't mean it can't be improved. The way I see it, whether you actually write or not, this probably isn't the first fic you've read, so you have some idea of what works. If you like something, that's great, but you may not; you don't have to offer a way to fix it, but if you let me know, I might be able to find something, and it might lead me to the break through I need for a few of these uncooperative scenes. Believe me, there are very few that I'm satisfied with.

And yeah, don't kill me for my neglect...


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